Fire Emblem: The Blazing Sword
by Ocean Rose
Summary: It started as just a coincidental meeting of the Sacaen Lyn and the young tactician Cynthia. What resulted came to be known as one of the greatest journeys in all of history, rivaling even the legends of old.
1. Fire and Flight

_Fire Emblem: The Blazing Sword_

**Part One: Life Lost**

Prologue: Fire and Flight

Bern. A mighty nation in the far east of Elibe, known throughout the continent for its military strength; more specifically, its prestigious wyvern riders. They were the best of Bern's knights, soaring the skies astride reptilian mounts. Their sheer might, paired with their undying loyalty to their king, made them some of the deadliest soldiers known to mankind. They would take on any challenge; no matter how difficult, nor how immoral.

A mild summer night rolled heavily over the Bern frontier, the air warm and thick with humidity. Dark clouds swarmed in the sky, obscuring the slowly setting sun and foreshadowing a night of thunder and rain. The wind howled painfully through the trees, and chilled the world down to its very foundations. It wove its way through the countryside, as foreboding as the clouds above it. It danced over the hills, and into the scar below.

The torn remains of a ruined village emerged out of the darkness, a fiery wound on the countryside. The village itself was blackened from the fires that had ravaged it, marking it harshly against the smooth green of the field just over the hillside.

Merely two months ago, it had been the proud village of Nineveh, a congregation of masterful artisans.

It had been a quiet village, with no more than fifty inhabitants. At least half of those fifty were some of the most talented artisans in all of Bern, perhaps in all of Elibe. Any profession on the entire continent; you could find some form of it in Nineveh.

Now, though, the small village was devoid of life, a painful reminder of the brutality of Bern's monarch. One tiny bend in the truth, and the proud wyvern riders had struck it down; decimated the buildings, and murdered men, women, and children alike.

But today, for perhaps the first time in those two months, there was a tiny flicker of life on the horizon.

A lone wyvern pierced the dark clouds above, its leathery wings rippling powerfully in the wind. It snarled and snapped at air, its ivory teeth shredding mercilessly at the bit forced far into its mouth. Deadly claws raked through the air as the wind whipped around the creature, its powerful tail sweeping dangerously in its wake.

The beast spiraled downward just as lightning began to flash on the horizon. Its screech pierced the night like a banshee's howl, a high, quivering note that struck fear into every living soul that had the misfortune of encountering it. Its rider pulled back roughly on the reigns, and the wyvern screeched furiously as it was forced to change course. Thrashing its head and roaring in fury, it reluctantly obeyed its master's silent wishes, and soared downwards toward the ruins of Nineveh.

The wind began to swirl and scream almost as loud as the wyvern, its movements erratic and threatening with the rapidly approaching storm. Thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance, and streaks of lightning lit up the horizon in a blaze of electricity. Rain pelted down from the heavens, a freezing downpour that sieged the earth below.

The wyvern streaked downward like a bullet. The wind pounded it from all sides, and it screeched furiously as it struggled to keep control of its wildly pumping wings. Its golden eyes swerved in their sockets; second, transparent lids sweeping away the rain every few seconds. Its master shouted at the beast, his voice inaudible over the rumble of thunder behind him.

The wyvern screeched and swerved toward a charred building, blackened but miraculously still standing. Leathery wings pumped with strong sweeps, keeping the beast aloft several feet above the ground. The wyvern then thrust out its clawed hind legs, and touched down gently amidst the wind and rain.

They had touched down in the middle of what had been the central square of Nineveh. The wyvern swept its mighty tail in wide arcs across the muddy ground, lowering its proud head obediently, giving its master room to dismount. The wyvern rider swung himself out of the saddle with ease, landing with a small _squelch_ in the watery mud below. His mount lifted and twisted its long neck, blinking blearily at its master as the man moved farther into the square.

He had been here two months ago, when Nineveh was peaceful. He had stood at this spot, and marveled at the beauty around him. Now it was all gone, destroyed in a blaze of fire.

The magnificent fountain that had been at the center of the square was crushed, the beautiful stone statues that had lined the edges of it now rubble. The rare gems that had embellished it were gone, most likely stolen, and the empty hollows where they had once sat now stared imploringly out at nothing.

He could remember tall, pristine buildings coated in beautiful ivory paint, with molding lined with the finest carvings. Now those carvings were gone forever, engulfed by fire and war. The beautiful buildings of Nineveh's past now lay crushed and blackened in the streets of Nineveh's somber present.

The people who had filled the square to the brim those short two months ago, laughing and chatting to their hearts content... They were gone, and all that was left of them were their burnt and broken bodies, strewn all over the blood-stained streets.

The wyvern rider circled the square in a daze, oblivious to the freezing rain pounding on his skull and the wind whistling in his ears. His mount lumbered silently after him, its golden eyes swiveling around in their sockets, seeming almost bored, to take in the ruins around them.

He had seen it happen, yes, but... he had never come back since then to see the damage. He knew it had been severe– how could it not have, after what he had seen?– but this...

"... Who's there?" came a gruff voice from the shadows, snapping the man roughly from his stupor. There was a stir from far behind a few broken support beams. "... That you, Isaac?"

The man stiffened and turned towards the voice. Its familiar tone sparked in his mind, and he tentatively matched a face to it. "... Atreus?" he called, as softly as he could with the rain roaring like an injured beast around him.

There was a loud _crack!_ of rotting, wooden beams splitting in two. The man's wyvern snapped to attention at the sound, and eyed the shadowy alleyway from which the voice had come with mistrust. It wove silently around its master, baring its fangs at what it could not see in a silent hiss. Its scaly tail whipped around behind it, then gently wrapped itself around the man in an effort to protect him from the unknown. Isaac gently pushed the tail away, and ran a hand soothingly over the animal's snout. "It's okay, Jael," he murmured, peering into the darkness. "Friend... I think."

A tired, old face appeared in the on-and-off moonlight. Streaks of silver illuminated sections of wrinkled skin, and one brilliantly blue eye. "Isaac?" the voice repeated. The face inched forward, and out of the protection of the overhanging wreckage. Rain was upon it within seconds.

Isaac moved forward a few steps, clicking his tongue to get his mount to follow. He made his way to the overhang, and bent over to peer into the darkness. "No way..." he muttered.

An old man was huddled under the wreckage, having retreated back away from the storm. He clutched an old and tattered blue cloak tightly around his small frame, yet still shivered violently with every gust of wind. His crown was devoid of hair; all of it seemed to have migrated to his chin, stringy and white as snow.

"Atreus, it _is_ you," Isaac said, dipping down to enter the tiny alcove. Jael made a rumbling sound in the back of his throat, trying and failing to follow his master under the wreckage. Isaac ignored him, and fell to his knees beside the trembling old man. "Why in the name of St. Elimine are you still here?"

Jael managed to get the tip of his snout underneath the overhang, but, being unable to see his master, began to snap his jaws in frustration. His nostrils flared, visible puffs of air rising ominously from them in the cold, and, with a frustrated screech, he shoved his entire head in, ivory canines flashing menacingly

"Re-...restrain your beast, Isaac!" Atreus cried abruptly, completely ignoring the young man's first query. He shrank back in the shadows, groping wildly behind him for something Isaac couldn't see. Eventually, he produced a knobbly old walking stick, and brandished it violently at both the rider and his mount.

Jael, taking the insane movements of this wrinkled old man as a serious threat, snarled and attempted to thrust his neck farther into the alcove, snapping viciously at the walking stick. "Jael!" Isaac bellowed, smacking the animal smartly across the snout. "Stop it!"

Jael recoiled with a snarl, but fell obediently silent, retreating partially back into the storm. Still, he eyed the trembling Atreus and his knobbly stick hungrily, as if daring the old man to try and attack his master again.

"You're insane, boy!" Atreus cried, and clutched his walking stick close to his tiny form. "Completely and utterly so! Anyone that attempted to go so much as _near_ that creature would be eaten alive, much less those that attempt to _ride _it!"

Isaac took a deep, calming breath, and reached out to reassure the terrified old man. "Jael isn't going to hurt you, Atreus," he said soothingly, "He's perfectly safe. Now calm down and answer my question. _Why in the name of St. Elimine are you here?_"

Atreus fixed him with a hard glare, still trembling violently and clinging to his walking stick. "Bah. Me? You're the one who should be explaining yourself, boy. I thought I told you and your men to get out of here and never come back."

"What you _told_ me," Isaac said darkly, "Was to take the boy and girl to Sacae." He situated himself more comfortably, sitting cross-legged across from the old man, between him and Isaac's menacing wyvern. "I did that."

"Good for you," Atreus snapped. "But you can't deny what I told you before you left." He jabbed a finger furiously in the direction of the storm. "The others are gone. Why are you so foolish that you'd remain in Bern longer than you have to?"

Isaac sighed. "Because the girl told me to go find you and make sure you were all right."

"What a load of..."

"It's _true_," Isaac interrupted sharply, "Whatever you may think or believe, she cares about your safety." He gestured to the crude shelter around them. "And this? This is not safe."

"Bah," Atreus muttered, "I'd be safer out in the tree at the top of that hill during this storm than you are in any region of Bern." His brows drew together in irritation. "Did that wretch of a girl tell you to come back?"

"She did," Isaac said calmly. "And I'm glad."

Atreus growled and spat into the mud. "Then you're just as foolish as she is," he told the wyvern rider flatly. He began to mutter to himself, dragging himself up to a sitting position. "Wretched little girl," he snarled, "Could've cost you your life. She never did bother to think of the safety of others. I always said she'd never amount to anything."

"But you still taught her, didn't you?" Isaac asked matter-of-factly. He merely smiled as Atreus glared at him.

"You're as much as a fool as she is," Atreus repeated, his voice a stubborn growl. He poked the front of Isaac's emerald armor with his walking stick, an action that got a threatening growl from the wyvern left in the storm. Atreus flinched slightly, but continued on. "Your commander made a hell of a sacrifice for you four," he snapped, "And here you are being reckless. It's like spitting on that sacrifice, it is. What a disgrace."

"You're going senile, old man," Isaac retorted darkly. "You're the one hiding in a disgusting little hole in the middle of a destroyed village."

Atreus rapped his armor again with his walking stick, leaning forward daringly. "Pah. If that's what you believe, maybe you aren't the fool after all." A twisted smirk deformed his lips, and he poked Isaac more forcefully with his stick. "Yes, maybe your _commander_ is the fool, sacrificing herself for a whelp like you. Stupid woman."

Isaac felt his heart strings strain, felt his fists clench. _No one_ spoke about his commander like that; not if he could allow it. He seized the walking stick by its knobbly tip, and tore it away from the old man. He threw it roughly to the side like it was a pesky bug, and seized Atreus violently by the front of his shirt. "You are in _no_ position to question my actions or my morals, old man," he snarled into Atreus's blank face. "And you will _not_ speak ill of my commander in front of me."

"Do you even _understand_ just what that woman tried to do for you?" Atreus demanded, not fazed in the least by the wyvern rider's response. "She risked– and probably lost, I'll have you know– her own life so that you could _flee_. Flee to Lycia, she said. Flee to Sacae. Flee _somewhere_." Atreus's blue eyes narrowed; the pair were now almost nose-to-nose. "And yet here you are, still frolicking in Bern when you had the perfect chance to flee. And if throwing your life away for one who won't respect it isn't foolishness, I don't know what is."

"Hold your tongue!" Isaac snapped. "I came back here for _you_. I came back to make sure you were _safe_. Is _this_ how you treat someone who's _worried_ for you!"

"Bah," Atreus spat, "The only reason you came back was because my wretch of a student told you to, and you know it." Atreus returned Isaac's glare ten-fold, as if daring the young man to refute this statement. When the wyvern rider did not speak, he continued. "Of course. If she asked you to throw yourself from the capital's tallest building, you'd do it. You're wrapped so tightly around her little finger, it's _nauseating_."

"I said, _hold your tongue_, old man!" Isaac bellowed. Atreus's face was infuriatingly apathetic, almost bored in appearance, and Isaac was determined to wipe that look from his face once and for all. Without so much as taking a moment think, Isaac raised his free hand, and struck Atreus hard across the cheek.

The alcove suddenly went very silent. Isaac stared down at his own hand in horror, in nothing but pure shock at what he had done. He and Atreus had known each other for _years_, and, while they had their differences, Isaac had never gone so far as to _strike_ the old man. Thunder cracked violently over their heads, and lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the tiny alcove for a few, brief, moments.

"... Are you that afraid of yourself?" Atreus asked calmly after the silence had stretched many minutes. "So terrified of your own faults that you refuse to hear them from another, lest they be cemented in truth?"

Isaac stared at Atreus, his mouth flopping uselessly to form words."Wh-...What?" he whispered. "What do you..."

"Bah, never mind," Atreus growled. He rubbed his cheek gingerly, massaging away the pink mark that had appeared where he had been struck. "You are too young to understand. It would be pointless for me to try to explain it to you."

"N-...No, I... I understand what it means, but..."

"Yes, you do," Atreus muttered, feeling around in the dirt for his fallen walking stick. "But at the same time, you don't. So don't bother with it. You won't understand."

Silence again reigned supreme between the two men. Atreus soon located his walking stick, and settled back down into a seated position across from Isaac. He studied the young wyvern rider's face for a long time, as if trying to peer into his soul. After many, awkward minutes, he spoke again, in new tone; exhausted and broken.

"... I worry, you know."

It took Isaac a moment to realize that the old man had spoken, and as soon as he did, he flailed to fill the silence. "P-...Pardon?"

"About _her_. I worry." Atreus sighed heavily, and his face broke, revealing a much older, tired man underneath. It was as if he had aged another twenty years; as if he were lying on his deathbed. "... You heard what happened?"

"... You mean... to the Lorca."

"Yes." Atreus clutched his walking staff tightly, eventually so much so that his knuckles began to turn stark white. "... I was afraid something would happen, but nothing like this... It endangers everything."

"But... How?" Isaac asked, frowning in nothing but confusion. "I don't understand. They weren't supposed to have contact with the Lorca at all. Why would the attack affect them? It doesn't make sense."

Atreus stared at the wyvern rider, exhaustion more present than ever in his brilliant azure eyes. "Of course it doesn't make sense, not to you," he murmured, "You're too young. You would never understand."

"What?"

"Never you mind," Atreus said sharply. His wall was reforming, and the broken old man was vanishing. "It's nothing for you to worry yourself to death over."

"But I..."

Atreus shoved his walking stick deep into the earth, and used it as leverage to slowly pull himself to his feet. He hobbled to the entrance to the alcove, and peered through cracks in the charred wood and out into the storm. "You need to go," he said flatly, "Every second here is endangering your life."

Isaac shook his head. "You can't stay here any longer, either, Atreus," he said, "It's equally as dangerous for you as it is for me." He frowned, turning and peering through the wind and rain. He spoke again, this time more to himself than to Atreus. "... I could probably get you to Orestes..."

"No," Atreus said flatly. He turned slightly, keeping one eye on the wyvern rider, and one on the storm raging just outside."You've spent too much time in Bern as it is. Your commander can't keep the bounty hunters busy forever. They're probably finished with her already as it is."

"But..."

"Go," Atreus said gruffly. He turned, hobbling back over to the younger man, and, in a surprisingly friendly gesture, clapped Isaac on the shoulder. He gestured to the ruined city around and behind him. "... You know, it may not look it, but you and your men did a great thing for us, boy... You risked everything for this town... Saved a few lives that needed saving." He patted the wyvern rider's shoulder and hobbled away, back towards the entrance. "... I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if you lost your life now."

"They're not just looking for us, you know," Isaac told him. "If they found out you were living here..."

"They wouldn't lay a hand on my head," Atreus said with a smirk.

"Atreus, the king is hunting _everyone_ in this village down. That _includes_ you."

"No, it doesn't, boy. Your teacher never taught you politics, did he?" Atreus rapped his walking stick against the rotting wood, and laughed contemptuously. "I'm too _precious_ to the king. He'd never allow anyone to touch me. What an ignorant fool."

Isaac stared at him blankly.

"I just spent the last fifteen years cultivating a heir," Atreus elaborated, "and he still believes I'm the only one left in this world." He laughed again, bitterly. "And now, because he's such a blind fool, she's as safe as she can be in Sacae, and anyone who even thinks of laying a hand on me would be executed in a second."

"Maybe," Isaac said slowly, "but they can't do anything if the cause of death is a storm. You can't very well execute a storm."

Atreus grunted skeptically, but Isaac had every right to be worried. The storm was only getting worse, and the already unstable building was swaying dangerously in the powerful winds and relentless pound of the rain. Lightning streaked across the sky every few seconds, stringing blasts of thunder together in an endless rumble.

A low growl emitted from the back of Jael's throat. The wyvern had its wide eyes planted on the horizon, its claws raking uneasily in the mud. It ruffled its wings, its instincts willing it to fly out of the situation, but its loyalty to its master keeping it planted on the ground. One, golden eye swivelled in its socket to peer at Isaac, waiting for action.

"Look," Isaac continued, pointing to his mount, "It's even bothering Jael. Please, Atreus, let me take you to Orestes."

"Bah. Even if the rest of Bern liked those overgrown lizards," Atreus said darkly, "I'd still rather be struck by lightning than be eaten alive."

"Oh, for the love of–" Isaac grabbed Atreus by the forearm, dragging him roughly towards the entrance to the alcove. "My wyvern is _not_ going to eat you. Why would I ride him if he went around eating people?"

"Don't ask me why all of Bern's knights are wrong in the head!" Atreus snarled. He tried to jerk his arm away, but he was simply not strong enough to free himself from the younger man's grip. "Unhand me, boy!"

Isaac ignored him, and dragged the old man out of the alcove and into the storm. "Jael!" he bellowed through the roar of the wind. "Come!"

The wyvern immediately responded to the call, bounding eagerly through the mud to its master. It dipped its slender neck down, giving Isaac the leverage to haul himself into the saddle. Atreus shouted blindly into the night, clinging tight as Isaac hauled him up behind him. The wyvern rider did not respond to his frenzied protests; he merely gathered Jael's reigns and wrapped them tight around his forearms. "Jael!" he bellowed, "Hup, hup!"

At this order, the wyvern rose to its full height, accompanied by a shriek, courtesy of Atreus. Leathery wings stretched wide into the sky, and powerful claws raked violently through the empty air. It lifted its snout to the rain, letting out a powerful screech that filled the night, and sprang up. Its wings pumped wildly to keep itself aloft, its long tail whipping behind it to stay its balance.

Within seconds, the wyvern was soaring into the sky, away from the lightning and rain that assaulted the earth below; Atreus shrieking all the way.

* * *

_a/n: And it returns with a **vengence**! Now complete with a new prologue, revised chapters, and all-new Chapter Four! I've spent the last week or so revising, rewriting, and revamping this entire story. Now it's got an actual **plot** to follow, instead of me just writing on the whim. Hopefully this will attract new and old readers alike, and I hope you all have a pleasant read!_

_Speaking of old readers (if any of you return), I'd like to know your feedback on the changes. Do you like the story better this way, or should I have just left it alone. Every piece of criticism that you could give is valued and appreciated greatly. New readers, too. I'd like to hear what you think of this little piece of work I'll be working on from now on. Tell me things I could to differently, or if you particularly like something I do, tell me to keep it up. Anything you want to tell me, go for it!_

_  
And as for my...er updating "issues", I'm confident that it won't happen again. You'll see updates of only this until it's finished, you have my word. The only thing I have to say about my lax in updates until now is this: Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa._

_OceanRose _


	2. Last of the Lorca

Chapter One: Last of the Lorca

Silence.

It was the comfortable silence. One that was confident on its own. One that didn't need sound to calm the people enshrouded in it. Silence claimed the Sacae Plains easily in the early morning, when the sun was just peeking its glowing head over the horizon. Not even the wind made a sound as it skipped across the grass, weaving through tall stalks of vegetation and streaming into the horizon.

A lone ger stood in the otherwise empty area, its surface scratched and dark from years of use. Worn cloth decorations hung from the rounded roof, the colors dulled by time. The outside of the hut was fairly clean, not a single out-of-place object dotted the grass around it. Even inside, the same neat order was preserved.

The ger's interior was spacious; there were only a few, small pieces of furniture inside. A small table and a low shelving unit were placed against the eastern wall, the dark wood polished to a shine. The shelves held a variety of items, ranging from herbs and spices, to tiny bottles, filled only with air. A small bed was pushed against the side of the ger, the cotton sheets a normal, off-white color.

Lined up against the other walls were sturdy boxes that varied in size and color, each one filled to the brim with all sorts of items. Tall jars containing large amounts of water and berries were beside the chests. On the wall opposite the door was a neatly organized set of weapons, ranging from short spears to graceful swords.

Only the swords remained in good condition. The others stood proudly, gleaming as best they could in the early morning light, but all were layered in a thick coat of dust.

Lyn's right hand wrapped loosely around the hilt of one such sword, drawing it as her left hand held the scabbard steady. The metal sang cheerfully as it scraped against its sheath, the blade glinting in the dim light. It freed itself with a metallic _hiss_, and she held it at eye-level, inspecting the blade with critiquing eyes.

In reality, there truly wasn't anything special about the sword. It's blade was made of iron, the same as any ordinary sword anywhere. In fact, if she had her way, it would be made of steel or even silver, not iron.

But, she didn't have her way. Instead, she had two blades, both made of the same iron as every other sword. Both, however, she took pristine care of, polishing them till they glowed and always keeping them deathly sharp. She treated them as a child would a favorite toy; trying her best to keep them good as new, but unable to stop using them until they dulled with age

Even in a seemingly empty place, her sword was vital at all times. All types of bandits from all over the Bern mountains came to her area of Sacae, terrorizing neighboring villages, and sometimes even Lyn herself. She needed her sword for protection, both for her and the people who lived around her.

Bandits were separated into clans; large groups that hailed to one name. Originally, there had simply been bandits, without any semblance of order whatsoever. Eventually, though, the brigands began to disagree with each other and formed bands of people with the same ideals.

One such clan was the Ganelon, a band that had, once, been the largest in all of Bern. Ten years ago, however, it had split almost exactly in two. Thus the clan known at the Taliver was formed.

The Taliver bandits quickly became well-known throughout all of Sacae and Bern as the most treacherous of all the bands roaming the mountains. The Taliver grew at an alarming rate, pillaging every village they came across, and murdering countless innocents.

Lyn scowled at air, her fingers tightening instinctively around the hilt of her sword. The Taliver were monsters, cruel and unforgiving. They slaughtered men, women and children alike. They cared nothing for any other life but their own.

She would destroy them all.

Suddenly, the look of anger and determination on her face melted and gave way to an aura of defeat and despair. She couldn't face them; not now. She looked down at her hand, wrapped so tightly around her sword that her knuckles had begun to turn white. As much as she hated to admit it, it would be foolhardy to try and face the Taliver now. Though she _was_ skilled with her blade, there was much she still needed to learn. Even a small group of Taliver bandits would strike her down in minutes.

No. She couldn't face them now. Instead, she had to train. She _had_ to become stronger, so that she could repay the bandits for all their crimes.

She brushed past the tan cloth that served as her door, entering the endless fields of grass that served as her home. She smiled, faintly, as all thoughts of hate and revenge vanished, and only thoughts of the plains before her occupied her mind.

She stood on a shallow hill, a rare occurrence in the flat terrain of Sacae. Her home was somewhat close to the Bern Mountains, so the terrain was a bit rockier, but only very slightly. A sea of grass spread out below her, barely disturbed by the gradual change in terrain. Each blade was a pale shade of green that blended perfectly with the others around it. Small shrubs spotted the area, and a few trees could be seen on the horizon. Other than that, the plains were as they should be. Empty.

Well, that's what she expected, anyway.

"Hm...?" A good way away from her ger was a depression in the tall grass. It was out of place, as if someone had randomly cut away the stalks... Or as if something was lying there. She studied the depression from a distance, her right hand once again gripping the hilt of her sword and stepped forward to investigate.

As she approached, it became obvious that the depression wasn't because the grass had been cut. She could see footprints, obviously human by their shape, in the grass, the blades bent from the force of someone's weight. Already the stalks had begun to straighten themselves out, indicating that it had been a good while since the prints had been made.

But, what bothered her the most was not the prints themselves; rather, it was what she noticed dotting the ground _around_ the prints. It wasn't noticeable from far away, but up close, it was a glaring detail.

Blood.

Her sword hand didn't loosen by any margin on the way there, but when her destination finally came into view, she abandoned her hilt all-together, sprinting forward in automatic concern. "Oh my–!"

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"... The Alpha formation... ... triangular pattern... ... surround and overwhelm... ... ..."

Lyn glanced over her shoulder curiously. The girl was talking in her sleep again. At first it had just been incoherent mumblings, things the Sacaen had assumed were memories of whatever had happened to her. Now, though, she was saying full words, and very clearly as well. In fact, some of it was so complicated that Lyn couldn't understand half of it...

She frowned, dismissing the girl's subconscious ramblings for the moment. She turned back to her work by the shelf, filling some of her empty bottles with cool water and creating small doses of medicine with her storage of herbs.

By appearances, the stranger was a traveler. She wore a hooded cloak, the color a faded olive green. She didn't carry many things; she had two pouches, one empty, one filled with a small amount of gold, as well as a leather-bound book. Lyn decided not to touch the book, lest the girl be angry with her when she awoke.

She had found the girl unconscious in the grass, her body covered with an assortment of cuts and bruises. None of them had been particularly dangerous, but several had been deep and needed to be wrapped. Lyn didn't think that it was the injuries that had made the girl collapse, though. From what she could tell, the girl hadn't had water in a long while. She probably had been severely dehydrated.

Lyn took one of the small bottles in her palm, taking one step back so that she was beside her bed. She tipped the bottle's mouth to the girl's lips, gently allowing a few drops to slide down her throat. The girl coughed lightly, but swallowed the liquid nonetheless. She mumbled something again in her sleep, this time inaudible, and fell into slumber once more.

Lyn returned to her shelf, organizing the vulneraries placed on top of it. She had used a lot of her own to treat the girl's wounds; she needed to get some more very soon. She would have to go to town again, and she had just gone a few days ago...

"... ... Uhnnn... ... Ow... What...? Where...?"

Lyn glanced over her shoulder again, her eyebrows shooting up into her bangs. Those words didn't sound like sleep-talk. But the girl had been sleeping soundly just minutes ago...

"...Ahh..." The stranger sat up in the bed, her right hand probing her forehead gently. Her eyes were squinted shut from an aching pain, and her back was hunched slightly. Suddenly, her body shook violently, and she leaned over the opposite side of the bed, retching as if she was about to be ill.

Lyn abandoned her vulneraries on the shelf, sweeping quickly to the side of the bed. She placed a hand on the girl's back, steadying her as she desperately tried and failed to empty her stomach. She remained doubled-over long after her gagging had ceased, her long, brown hair shielding her face from view.

"Are you all right now?" Lyn asked quietly, seating herself on the edge of the mattress, her hand lingering on the stranger's back. The girl remained silent for a moment before nodding stiffly.

The girl took a deep breath, straightening her back and turning to look at the plainswoman beside her. "Yes... I'll... I'll be fine." She studied her rescuer, oak brown eyes narrowed more out of confusion than anything else. "... Who... Who are you again?"

"My name is Lyn." The Sacaen smiled warmly, trying to make the girl feel more comfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings. The stranger's face was deathly pale, and her mahogany hair hung limply around her face, the color looking almost dull with fatigue.

"I live here on the Plains," Lyn offered, noting that the confusion still had not left the girl's eyes. "I found you unconscious in the middle of the field." She gestured to the cloth door, indicating the fields outside.

"Ah... Yes... That's right, I remember now." The stranger lifted her hand to her forehead again. "I ran out of water. I had been out for about a day or so when bandits showed up." She shook her head vaguely, wincing as the movement sent a wave of pain through her skull, "Everything after that... I just can't remember."

"That's understandable," Lyn said gently, patting the girl's shoulder and rising from her spot on the bed. "Bandits, though... You were lucky. It was probably one of the more merciful clans. The Ikane, maybe?"

"I... honestly wouldn't know."

"Well, anyway, you're safe now." Lyn picked one of the small bottles off of her shelf, handing it to the stranger. "Here. You said yourself you hadn't had water in a long time."

"... Thank you." The bottle was small, fitting neatly into the palm of the hand. Thus, it couldn't hold much water, and the girl downed it rather quickly. She didn't ask for more, but Lyn filled it just as fast as she had drank it, receiving another meek, "Thank you..." in return.

Lyn seated herself back on the bed as the girl finished off the water. Another thought occurring to her, the Sacaen tilted her head to the side questioningly. "I wonder... Can you remember your name?" she asked suddenly.

The girl stared at her blankly. "Yes...?" She mimicked her rescuer, tilting her head slightly. "My name is Cynthia. Why wouldn't I remember?"

Lyn smiled, and tapped her left temple. "Amnesia. I was worried you might have bumped your head. You seem fine, though." She patted the traveler's shoulder again, and again she stood from the bed. "A pleasure to meet you, Cynthia. You should stay here and rest a few days. I can give you some supplies for your trip when you're ready to get on your feet again."

"Thank you..." Cynthia said quietly, watching as Lyn milled about the room. "I can't begin to repay you for all you've done for me..."

Lyn smiled over her shoulder, waving a dismissive hand. "No, no, don't worry about it," she said cheerfully. "I couldn't just leave you there, now could I?"

"I... I suppose not..."

"Right. So you just rest here for the next few days, and I'll–"

She froze, her mouth falling abruptly silent. Cynthia's eyes once again took a look of confusion, watching as the Sacaen suddenly stopped moving. Lyn's own green eyes darted to the door, and her hands slowly wrapped around the hilt of her sword.

"Lyn...?" Cynthia asked nervously, noting that Lyn had taken hold of the blade. She sat stock straight in the bed, both hands gripping the empty clay bottle like it was a comfort object. Her eyes had gone wide, and fear that she had done something wrong was clearly present in them. "... Lyn, what's–"

"Shhh!" Lyn's scathing order forced the traveler into silence. The Sacaen drifted to the door, gently pushing away the cloth that covered the frame. "Did you hear that?" she questioned, her voice barely a whisper.

"Hear wha–"

Cynthia's voice was cut off by the echo of a woman's voice. The look on Lyn's face indicated it was the same sound she had heard just seconds before, one that had gone unnoticed by the traveler. The sound was obviously louder now, but still faint. Despite that, it was audible enough for anyone to recognize easily.

A scream.

Lyn peered out the doorway, one hand secured firmly on her sword. Cynthia remained where she was, the air around her had suddenly become so tense that she was afraid to so much as breathe, much less move. Lyn suddenly cursed under her breath, pulling rapidly away from the cloth that served as her door. "Bandits," she whispered harshly.

She turned to face her guest, the anger in her gaze condensing into concern. "They're probably the same lot that attacked you. I bet they came to raid the nearby villages." She scowled, turning to glare back at the doorway. Her voice dropped in volume, so her next statement sounded as if she was talking more to herself than to Cynthia. "... I have to stop them."

"W-Wait!" Lyn eyes snapped back in surprise as the traveler suddenly spoke up, leaning forward eagerly, though a hint of fear still displayed in her eyes. "Take me with you! I want to help!"

Lyn stared at the traveler in disbelief. "Cynthia, I appreciate your concern, but you're in no condition to _stand_, much less fight!"

Cynthia seemed subdued slightly by the statement. Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink, and she looked away to hide it. "I... Well... I don't mean actual _fighting_..."

Lyn cocked her head. "What? Then..."

"I... I'm a strategist. A tactician, if you will." Cynthia began to throw the covers off of herself, wincing noticeably as she moved her body to the side of the bed. "I can't fight, per se, but I can give you advice! ... I may not look it, but I know quite a lot about these things."

"But... Even so..."

"I'm fine! Really!" Cynthia placed her feet on the ground, ignoring a cry of protest from Lyn. She hopped off the edge of the bed and placed her weight fully on her legs. Her knees trembled, and she stumbled a few steps before regaining her balance. "S-See?" she said shakily, smiling weakly to the Sacaen across the room, "I... I don't have to do anything more than walk, anyway."

"... Honestly!" Lyn gave the traveler an exasperated smile, her tense posture loosening considerably. "You're so stubborn..." She sighed, turning towards the door. "Fine, I'll let you come. I could use the help." She glanced back, becoming serious once more. "But you _have_ to be careful. I'll protect you, but I can't do anything if you pass out again."

Cynthia smiled earnestly, trotting up beside the Sacaen. "Right. I'll be careful; promise."

"All right. Let's go."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"See that?"

"Yes, Cynthia, it's a bandit. Not difficult to identify."

The tactician made a face, rolling her eyes at Lyn's comment. They were laying on the crown of the hill, pressed low to the ground to avoid being seen. The grass was tall enough around them so that anyone looking up the slope wouldn't see the depression they made.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Cynthia whispered angrily, "I wasn't pointing to the bandit himself, I was pointing to the fact that his back is to us."

"What? Cynthia, that doesn't make sense."

Cynthia shook her head, already exasperated. "Look, I know what I'm doing, okay? I'll explain it." She pointed again, her finger barely poking above the grass around them. "Now, see? He's looking to the left now; his side is to us."

"So what?"

"Lyn, just listen!"

The tactician began to explain her reasoning, a complicated set of facts and numbers. Lyn stared at her blankly as she spoke, her ears hearing but not really listening. By the way Cynthia spoke, it sounded as if she was happy to have someone to empty information on. Lyn, however, wasn't in the mood for statistics.

"... Cynthia, I think it would be easier if you just tell me what you want me to do."

"But... Oh, fine." The tactician sighed, hanging her head. "Wait until he's about a quarter turn away from us, so that part of his back and part of his right side is facing us," she said blandly, turning her attention back to the battlefield, "Come up from behind so that he doesn't see you, and strike his right side."

Lyn rose to her elbows, peering over the tips of the grass. "Right." She narrowed her eyes, watching as the axe-user bumbled about on the field, obviously not at home on the grass. He was completely off-guard, a common mistake made by brigands. But even so, he appeared to be much stronger than the small number of other bandits around him.

Lyn gripped her sword hilt with her hand, coming up to a crouch, ready to spring at the right moment.

Then... it came.

"There!" Lyn sprang from her spot, her hand pulling the sword swiftly from its sheath. The metal sang as it entered the air, glinting giddily in the afternoon sun. She landed with a soft _thump_ in the grass, the sound so soft not even the tactician behind her heard it.

She was upon the bandit in seconds. He spotted her just before she was in range, and he made a frenzied attempt to counter her attack. His movements were too slow, however, and she was upon him before he was able to even turn around.

"Ha!" Her blade sank into the brigand's arm, cleaving away a deep injury. The bandit snarled in surprise and pain, swinging his axe haphazardly. The weapon connected roughly with her sword, locking at the hilt, and she shrank down into a defensive stance.

The mere force of the blow was almost enough to knock the sword from her hands. Lyn grunted under the brigand's superior strength, her hands struggling to merely keep hold of her blade. The bandit pushed down on his axe, the Sacaen's sword caught in a nook where the axe head met the wooden shaft. "Stupid little girl." Blood from his wound dripped down his arm and onto the axe, making the weapon seem even more malicious. "You _dare_ challenge Batta the Beast!"

Cynthia sat up straight, watching the battle with fearful eyes. The chocolate orbs surveyed the situation frantically, her brain racking for a solution to the problem. Suddenly, there was a loud clash of metal against metal, accompanied by a brief shriek of pain.

"_Lyn_...!" Cynthia leaned forward on her hands, eyes wide with fear of what she hadn't seen. She spotted the two adversaries again, both injured, but neither attacking again.

Batta had broken Lyn's defense only moments after they had locked weapons. She had made one last attempt to dodge, but still the axe had caught her shoulder, cutting deeply into her flesh.

Cynthia's shout gained attention from neither of the fighters; both were focused solely on their opponent. Lyn lifted her sword, setting it into another attack stance. The brigand laughed scornfully, spitting a mouthful of blood to the side.

"Gonna try again, little girl?"

Lyn remained silent, her green eyes narrowed in concentration. Her shoulder ached painfully as she prepared another attack, blood seeping at a steady rate from the wound. She ignored any and all pain emanating from it and focused solely on the bandit facing her.

She sprang forward with a cry, throwing caution to the wind and choosing a straightforward assault. The bandit grinned as she approached, his hands bringing up the bulk of his axe to intercept her blade...

_CLANG_

Cynthia cursed under her breath as the fighter's weapons locked once again. She had specifically told Lyn that attacking from the front was foolhardy. It was spreading your attack pattern out for your enemy like a map!

The tactician watched helplessly from the hill, pushing herself up to her knees. The opponents struggled against each other's weight, the advantage occasionally slipping from one to the other and back again. Their weapons were fighting just as much as their owners were, and which one would emerge victorious was solely based on the wielder's strength.

You didn't need to be a genius to figure out who that was.

Already, Lyn's legs were buckling under Batta's sheer power. He grinned down his axe at her, fully confident in his victory. Lyn, however, had a surprise in store, and her bumbling fool of an opponent would never see it coming.

She had been forced almost to her knees, her legs bent into a squat. If her intuition was right, he was going to break off soon and attack, most likely a strike that would kill her. If things went well, though, she wouldn't have her life cut short just yet...

"Any last words, wench?" the bandit snarled in a breathy whisper.

Lyn glared, her lips forming one, clear word, despite the obvious pressure he was exerting on her blade. "... Die..."

His eyes shot open wide as she suddenly jerked her sword back and out of the lock, leaving gravity as the only force on his weapon. She pulled herself out of the way just as his axe plummeted downward, sinking firmly into the earth below. He only had a moment to struggle with his weapon, for it took Lyn only one, quick stroke. She thrust her sword forward, giving him no time to cry out before her sword pierced his throat.

Lyn stood as Batta's body fell limp, slumping loosely over the shaft of his axe. She withdrew her blade from his broken body, a splatter of blood coloring it deep red. She sighed, looked down at the body at her feet, and said a short, merciful prayer to Mother Earth in her mind.

The other bandits in the area looked at each other in sheer alarm. Lyn glowered at them from where she stood, blood streaming down her sword arm and the right side of her face. She held her ground, though her head was swimming and her arm throbbing. The bandits only stared at her, astounded, until finally she jerked her head in the direction of Batta's mangled body, strewn in a bloody mass on the ground.

At that, they all threw their axes wildly to the ground, released their hostages, and turned tail and ran.

"Lyn!" The Sacaen looked up at the familiar voice, letting the sword's hilt click into place against her scabbard. She smiled and waved with her good arm as her tactician friend sprinted down the hill, her face clearly showing her relief.

"Are... you all right!" Cynthia came up beside her friend. She was out of breath from the short run, and her words were disjointed by panting. "I... saw that wound... he gave you..." She indicated the large amount of blood oozing from the wound, staining the forest green fabric of her new friend's clothing.

Lyn glanced at her shoulder, wincing at the mangled mess it had become. "It's... all right. I have some vulneraries in my pouch here..." She detached a small brown bag from her belt, fishing around in it before producing a small jar. She drank the liquid stored inside, making a face as the bitter flavor crossed her tongue.

"I've... never seen... a vulnerary... like that one before..."

"There are different kinds. Vulneraries really are just a way of treating a wound. That one helps speed up healing from the inside. I have others that help healing from the outside. Prevents scars and things."

"I see... You're very... knowledgeable."

"When you've lived on the Plains as long as I have, you learn these sorts of things."

Cynthia forced a bright smile, but didn't respond in words. She was trying to get her breathing to calm, but still she needed to take deep, steady breaths, even after resting herself for several moments.

"Cynthia... are you all right?" Lyn said slowly, noticing the tactician's labored breathing. "Surely a little run couldn't tire you out that much..."

"Normally... it wouldn't..." Cynthia panted, closing her eyes. "But... I'm fine... It'll pass. Just give me a moment... please." She took one, last deep breath before smiling broadly at the Sacaen. "See? I'm... fine, I–"

She never got to finish her statement.

Her eyes suddenly fluttered shut, and she promptly collapsed into a heap.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Her vision slowly cleared as the young tactician came to, finding herself, once again, staring at the ceiling of Lyn's oddly furnished home. She groaned and rolled over onto her side, rubbing her eyes with her right fist. "Agh... Not again..."

"I _told_ you not to overexert yourself, Cynthia." The Sacaen appeared in her line of sight, her brow creased in irritation. "I was worried something had happened to you during that battle. It turns out you were just fatigued because you didn't rest enough!"

The tactician sat up groggily, still rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Lyn," she mumbled softly. "I guess I was in worse condition than I thought I was..." She let her hands drop into her lap and looked up at her new friend. "Lyn...?"

The Sacaen's concerned look hadn't faded, not even in the slightest. She was milling about the room, though she didn't seem to be doing anything. Her motions seemed... more like pacing to Cynthia. "Lyn, is something wrong?" the tactician asked meekly, "I'm sorry if I made you worry, I–"

"No, no, it's not that. It's all right." Lyn paused in her pacing, then turned to face the traveler, her hands folded in front of her. Her eyes were closed, as if she were trying to make a decision. "I... wanted to ask you something, actually."

"Ask me something?"

The Sacaen opened her eyes, giving the tactician a look of sheer determination and resolve. "I... want to go with you when you're ready to leave again. Is it all right if I... travel with you?"

Cynthia stared in disbelief. "You want to... What?" She shook her head, more out of confusion than anything else. "Lyn... I... I don't know..."

"_Please_, Cynthia!" Lyn seated herself on the edge of the bed, a pleading edge emerging in her voice. "That fight yesterday... I learned that I can't always protect myself. And... and if I come up against a truly strong enemy..."

"Lyn..."

"Cynthia, please, just consider this? I won't become any stronger sitting here doing nothing."

The tactician watched the Sacaen beside her, confliction clearly present in her eyes. She wanted to let Lyn travel with her, she truly did, but how could the Sacaen even consider leaving everything here behind? Friends? Family?

Wait...

"Lyn... Where's your family? Your parents? Have you talked to them about this yet?"

The Sacaen's face darkened considerably. She looked down and away, her bangs shielding her face from view. Her hands closed into fists, clinching the sheets below her into her palms.

"My parents... died six months ago," Lyn said dully, her voice heart-wrenchingly soft. "... It was bandits. They came in the dead of night. We... We were powerless to stop them..." She lifted her hands from the mattress, staring down at them as if they were coated in blood, as if she were the one who had been responsible. "I... I tried..."she whispered, her voice finally cracking, "I... I tried so hard to protect everyone..."

"Lyn..."

Lyn spun to face her, her green eyes brimming with unwelcome tears. "So... So that's why you _have _to take me with you! I _must_ get stronger so that I can avenge everyone! I must!" She began to shake, the warm tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please, Cynthia... Grant me this one thing..."

The tactician was silent for several moments, taking in the shivering wreck before her that she had once considered so strong, both in body and spirit.

"All right," she said quietly, "We'll travel together."


	3. The Whims of Fate

Chapter Two: The Whims of Fate

They had arrived in Bulgar only yesterday, and already the oaf was off trouncing with the local village barmaids.

Kent unleashed a string of profanities under his breath as he navigated the bustling town's busy streets. Normally, it would be appalling to hear such curses coming from him, but now, Sain had worked his last nerve. The fool had vanished seconds after leaving the inn that morning, and anyone who knew him didn't have to rack their brain to figure out what he was looking for. And, unfortunately, Sain had no trouble finding it – or rather, _her_.

The _real_ trouble was locating Sain himself and dragging him away before he started flirting with a woman who didn't take kindly to his lecherous comments.

Kent made a mental note to mortally wound his companion when he found him.

If_ I find him,_ the cavalier reminded himself bitterly, turning his hardened gaze left and right. Nothing looked familiar anymore. He repeated his string of curses, now focusing less on his AWOL companion and more on his surroundings. This had been his first visit to Sacae, much less the busy city of Bulgar. It was frighteningly easy to get lost.

And he was most certainly lost.

"Not that it matters," he muttered with a grimace, choosing a random direction and beginning to walk again, "Sain refuses to tell me where he's off to anyway." In any other circumstance, Kent would've most likely just left Sain to his escapades and completed their mission on his own, but this was no ordinary circumstance.

Lord Hausen had received a letter from his daughter, Lady Madelyn, just months before, after almost twenty years of lack of communication. The letter spoke of the life she had found on the plains of Sacae with her husband and daughter, as well as the rest of the tribe she had settled in with. Kent himself had not seen the letter, but the Marquess had been more than happy to announce every detail when he told the citizenry of the news.

For Kent, it had been a refreshing change of pace. Previously, Lord Hausen had been completely indifferent to the situation with his daughter. After the Lady Madelyn had vanished, he had been both furious and depressed. Eventually, talk of his daughter ceased, and she became nothing more than a oil painting on the castle walls.

Upon receiving the letter, however, the Marquess had become ecstatic. He spoke constantly of his granddaughter, a young woman of eighteen that he had never known. Many of the people, though, were convinced that it was not his granddaughter that created such a change in their Marquess, but the fact that his _daughter_ had finally taken the initiative to break the barriers between her and her father.

Lord Hausen was intent on seeing his newfound family, reuniting with his daughter as well as meeting his granddaughter and son-in-law. He made arrangements almost immediately to bring the three to Caelin, as he could not leave his throne to travel to the Plains. Regardless, Madelyn had not mentioned specifics in her letter, so it was not known what part of Sacae she and her family lived in.

Thus, Kent and Sain had been summoned.

They had been sent under direct orders from the Marquess to locate and bring back the family of three. The job was simple... theoretically. They would travel to Sacae, get information about Lady Madelyn and her husband from some of the natives, and find them.

Sain, apparently, didn't have the attention span for that sort of thing.

Kent paused again, stopping short as a flock of four chickens hobbled across his path. They walked single file, clucking cheerfully as if they were children, not poultry. It was amazing that they had been allowed to wander the city, and more amazing still that they hadn't been trampled yet.

"Ah...! Oh no, come back!" A young Sacaen girl shoved her way through the crowd, hastily apologizing to no one in particular. "Please! Ah! Ah! Excuse me! I-I'm sorry; my chickens...! Ohhhh! Father will kill me if they get hurt! Please come back!"

The girl lunged forward, managing to secure her arms firmly around the bird straggling at the end of the line. She fell to the ground, coughing as a cloud of dust flew up around her. Warned by the girl's sudden movements, the other chickens scurried away, raising their wings as if they were panicking. The Sacaen gave a cry of disdain, clinging to the one chicken in her arms as she scrambled to her feet and hurried after the others. "Nooo... Come back!"

Kent frowned, watching the scene play out before him. Finally, his knightly virtues kicked in, and he decided to abandon his search for Sain for the moment. He bent down, scooping up a pair of frenzied birds in one simple move. One thrashed in his grip, squawking angrily as it attempted to free itself. The other, however, didn't seem to have any qualms about being captured. In fact, it studied Kent with unnerving interest, as if the knight fascinated it.

The last chicken ran in a small circle, as if proud to be the last one standing. Kent took a step toward it, only to realize that he had no room to carry it, even if he did succeed in catching it. The free chicken clucked knowingly, taunting the knight before him.

As if sensing this, the calmer bird in his arms wormed its way out of his grip, perching neatly on his right forearm. But, instead of jumping off as he had expected it to, it climbed up to his shoulder, clucking all the way. At first, it seemed content with that spot, but suddenly it changed positions. Kent winced as the bird leapt up, landing gracefully on top of his head.

He didn't know which was worse: the feeling of the bird's claws in his scalp, or standing in the middle of a busy city with a chicken on his head.

Ignoring his rather embarrassing... predicament, Kent approached the last chicken again, this time successfully plucking it off the ground before it even got the chance to realize what had happened. It made a low sound, one eerily similar to a growl, and snapped its beak at its traitorous companion perched on the crimson knight's head.

The girl's face broke out of despair and into relief as she hurried over, clutching her chicken close to her chest. She dipped into a shallow bow, the chicken squeaking in protest as she did so. "Oh! Thank you so much! I was worried I would never be able to catch them!" She was out of breath, the run finally catching up with her as she began to pant lightly. "It's good to see that you are different than the fool I met earlier."

"What?" Kent eyed the girl curiously, already having an idea of who the 'fool' she spoke of was. He handed the chickens in his arms to her, one perching obediently on her shoulder as she took hold of the other, more rebellious bird in her arms. The last hen simply switched persons, hopping from Kent's head to its owner's. "Another knight?"

The girl nodded slowly. "Yes. He was very... odd. Do you know of him?"

As if on cue, Sain shoved his way through the wall of people, not bothering to offer any apologies. He made a beeline for the young girl, but stopped several paces away, as if frightened of her. "M-Miss Mayim... Are... you all right?"

The girl glared, and Kent was vaguely sure she would slap his companion had her arms not already been full. "Yes, Sir Sain, I'm fine. Though I must say you didn't help me much by _opening the locks on my chicken's cages!_"

The emerald knight winced noticeably. "Ah... Yes, my apologies," he said, staring at the ground. "Yet, you _did_ say that the birds needed some fresh air, and I just simply could not let such a beautiful flower such as yourself wear herself out from work." He smiled at her, trying to quell her anger. "And I must say, not even fury can dull your radiance,"

Mayim opened her mouth to retort, but Kent beat her to the punch. "Sain..." he growled, glaring as his companion looked up at him, "I specifically told you that we have no time for your... _sightseeing_." He spat the last word as if it were diseased. "We must get the information we need and depart as soon as possible." He turned his gaze back to the Sacaen, his manner softening considerably. "I apologize for any other trouble he has caused you,"

Mayim cocked her head, suddenly intrigued enough by Kent's words that she set her dispute with Sain aside for a moment. "No, no need to apologize," she said, "But... If it's information you seek, I may be able to help you." She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture that indicated the birds covering her body, "After all, I need to repay you for helping me, sir."

"You don't need to repay me for correcting my companion's blunder..." Kent responded slowly, ignoring Sain as the emerald knight rolled his eyes skyward. "But I would appreciate any aid you could give us..."

"I'll gladly help, then. What sort of information do you need?"

"We're looking for a woman named Madelyn," Sain piped up, obviously trying to redeem himself after causing the ruckus with the chickens. "She and her husband... uh..." Sain paused for a moment, racking his brain for a name.

"Her husband, Hassar, and her daughter, Lyndis," Kent finished smoothly, ignoring the death-glare Sain sent his way. "It is urgent that we find them. Do you know where they might be living?"

Mayim's face darkened, and a pained emotion flickered across her features momentarily. "O-Oh..." She looked away, her shoulders slumping slightly. Even the chickens in her arms had gone silent, their beaks chewing on the worn fabric of her dress nervously. "You're looking for... The Lorca tribe..." she murmured.

"Is... something the matter?" Sain asked quietly. His childlike mood had evaporated, replaced by a rarer, more serious Sain. Even he himself knew that now was not the time for antics. It was plain as the eye could see; Mayim knew something that could complicate their mission beyond repair.

Mayim turned back to look at them. "If... you're looking for Madelyn and Chieftain Hassar... I'm afraid you've come six months too late." Both knights stared at her blankly, not catching on to just what she was saying... Or, perhaps, they just didn't want to believe it.

"They, along with the rest of their tribe, were killed by bandits. The Lorca was scattered; there's probably less than ten survivors."

Kent felt the color drain from his face. If Lady Madelyn had passed away six months ago, that meant... She died only days after sending her letter to Caelin.

The Marquess would be crushed.

Mayim shifted uncomfortably, unnerved by the knights' silence. "But, there _is_ a fleck of good news," she said quietly. Both listeners looked up eagerly, hoping for any sort of relief for the burden that would soon be placed on their Marquess's shoulders. "There is a rumor... I don't know if it's true or not, as I am not part of the Lorca, but..." She paused again, trying to form words, "I've heard people saying that the Chieftain's daughter is still alive. That Lyn is living by herself on the plains."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Cynthia whistled cheerfully to herself as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Lyn had finally allowed her to get up and walk around two days ago, and the Sacaen had agreed to let them leave this morning. Simply the thought of traveling again was enough to put the apprentice tactician back into a giddy mood.

She reached down, pulling her boots onto her feet. She stood and bounced slightly, checking to make sure the footwear was still snug. Satisfied with that, she set to work on her hair, her hands catching the long, mahogany strands and pulling them back behind her ears. She began to entwine her hair into a tight plait, her fingers dancing behind her as if it were second nature.

She watched Lyn as she worked. The Sacaen was darting about the room like a butterfly, muttering off a list of things that she needed for the trip. She seemed to be getting more irritated with the situation as time passed; every so often she would make a face and curse, indicating she had none of whatever it was she needed.

"We're going to have to stop in Bulgar," Lyn told her friend as she dashed to another corner of the room. "I ran out of vulneraries, and we're going to need more provisions than I have, since there's going to be two of us on this journey." She began her list over again, halting to count each item off on her hands. Every two fingers, her face would contort again and her mouth would emit a profanity.

"That's all right. I don't mind." Cynthia said absentmindedly as she lifted her braid to tie it off at the end. "I've been to Bulgar before. It's a rather nice city, in my opinion." She released her hair, letting the plait swing behind her back. She touched her shoulders, almost self-consciously, then let her eyes drift about the room. "Hey... Lyn?"

"... Yeah?" the Sacaen responded, her voice muffled. She hadn't looked up from her work, and her head was buried in one of the numerous chests pushed up against her wall.

"Was I wearing a cloak when you found me?"

At this, Lyn raised her head to look at the tactician. "Uhm... I think so. Green, right?"

"Uh-huh."

The Sacaen ducked down into the trunk again, her hands tossing aside various articles of clothing. "Yeah, I remember now. Yeah, it's right here." She straightened up, pulling with her an olive-green fabric. She held it out to the tactician, watching as the girl gratefully swung it about her shoulders. She smiled wryly as the traveler seemed to snuggle into the clothing. "Attached to it, I see."

Cynthia blushed, looking down at the fabric around her. "Well... sort of," she admitted, twirling the cloak absently, "It... was a gift..." She fingered the cloth for a moment, a rather nostalgic look coming across her face. She paused for a moment, then shook her head and smiled. "Never mind, it's silly."With that, she leaned over to smooth the covers of Lyn's tiny bed, gently lifting her heavy, leather-bound book into her arms.

Lyn cast a look around the room, choosing to focus more on the journey at hand then her friend's momentary odd behavior. "Well... I don't think there's much else to pack..."

The traveler's smile grew, and she spun on her heel, making a beeline for the door. "Then we might as well go," she said cheerily, pushing aside the cloth door and stepping into the early morning sunlight. "Like you said, we're low on supplies and we need to make the trip to Bulgar."

"... ... But..." Lyn trotted to catch up with her friend, but paused momentarily at the door. She let her eyes travel once more around the room, trying desperately to memorize each and every detail. Everything dear to her, everything she had left... She was about to leave it all behind.

Cynthia stood several feet away, watching the Sacaen silently. She waited patiently, knowing full well what her friend was up to. Her ecstatic smile faded into a solemn one, and she tipped her head gently to the left. "... Lyn...?"

The Sacaen didn't acknowledge that Cynthia had spoken, simply stayed where she was, memorizing her ger's features. There were so many things she longed to take with her, but she knew that it would just meaninglessly weigh them down. But if she brought just one... She hesitated again, then glanced over her shoulder. "Can... you wait for just one minute?" she asked quietly, "I want to get something..."

"Sure."

Nodding swiftly, Lyn disappeared back into the ger. The cloth swung back over the door as she released it, closing off the room from natural sunlight. But... Lyn didn't need light to find what she was looking for.

She drifted over toward her shelving unit, kneeling down so she was level with it. Her fingers drifted over the polished wood almost longingly, as if memories were sealed deep withing the crevices. She lingered for only a second, then reached to the back of the shelf, her hands closing around a small box, the wood light and unpolished. She flicked the top open, revealing a small, sterling chain adorned with one emerald at the clasp. It was an ordinary bracelet, but Lyn treated it as if it were an unreplaceable treasure.

And, to her, it was.

She slipped the chain around her right wrist, maneuvering her hands to work the clasp easily. After a few tries, it clicked into place, and she allowed it to fall limp against her arm. Satisfied, she swept across the room, not giving anything around her a second look.

If she was going to leave this place, she couldn't risk looking at anything else.

"... Are you ready to go?"

Lyn appeared back in the doorway. This time, however, she did not hesitate. She let the cloth door slip from her fingertips and close off the ger. She smiled faintly at her companion, who hadn't moved from her place a stone's throw away. "Yes," she responded, her voice strong, "I'm ready."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"Ahh, here we are, finally to Bulgar! I was starting to worry if our rations would hold out until now!"

Lyn giggled as her friend bounced ahead of her, obviously ecstatic to be in the town. They had been walking for three days, with no company other than each other. They had run into a few other Sacaens, but the visits had been brief, if not nonexistent.

"We don't have time for sightseeing, Cynthia," the Sacaen reminded her friend gently. "We need to decide where we're headed next, and buy whatever we need for that trip, understand?"

The tactician nodded eagerly, spinning so that she faced her friend. She continued to backpedal, glancing over her shoulder every now and then to prevent herself from running into anyone. "Yeah, yeah, I know," she said with a laugh, "You can decide where we go. I've been almost everywhere already anyway."

"Let's find an inn first," Lyn said, trying to find her bearings in the marketplace. She had been to Bulgar hundreds of times before, but the city was so crowded it always took her a few moments to figure out where exactly she was. Smiling and nodding, she headed off to the right, moving swiftly through the streets. "The inn's this way," she called back, hoping the tactician was right behind her, "We can get a room and go from there."

Cynthia trotted at a steady pace just behind her, her brown eyes wide as saucers as she took in her surroundings. "I've never been here when it's this busy!" she exclaimed, "Wow, I didn't know Sacae had so many people in one place!"

Ahead of her, Lyn scoffed, dodging a small child as he ran past, giggling uncontrollably. "There are lots of places like this in Sacae!" she said, raising her voice over the din of the people around her, "In fact, most tribes have more people than this!"

Cynthia made a sound of pure wonder, but did not continue the conversation. Instead, she let her eyes take in her surroundings, something she had overlooked the other times she had visited Sacae's largest city.

Bulgar was indeed very large and very populous. Sacaens from all over the plains visited Bulgar as a commercial center of sorts. Different tribes mingled together easily here, going about their business and exchanging news with each other all at once. More than a few times, people from other tribes had approached the pair, astounded that Lyn had survived the assault on the Lorca. Cynthia honestly couldn't tell the difference between any of them.

The pair broke out of the marketplace, stumbling out of the sea of people and into the relatively empty town square. A medium-sized fountain was situated in the center, spouting gallon after gallon of pristine water. Rows of buildings surrounded the area, ranging from secluded armories and shops, to the long-sought inn Lyn had spoke of.

The Sacaen led the way, her faithful companion trailing in the same fashion she had when they had walked through the marketplace. Lyn had regained her bearings, moving through the town as if she had lived their all her life. She swung open the door of one of the buildings, and stepped into the lobby of Bulgar's Inn.

About four or five circular tables were placed around the room, surrounded by about six chairs each. They looked worn and weathered, a common trait among inn furniture. A bar was set up in the back of the room, and a shelf behind that, lined with pristine glasses set upside down. A counter was situated near the front of the room, the top covered with papers of all sorts. The lobby was empty, save for one person.

"G'afternoon, ladies!" The innkeeper grinned at them from his place behind the counter, gesturing for them to come closer. "I was startin' to worry if I'd get any customers today!" By the wrinkles on his face, Cynthia assumed he was about middle-aged, though his figure was much nicer than any forty-year-old she had ever met. His eyes were a warm green, matching nicely with his hair and beard. Green seemed to be a distinguishing trait for the Sacaens. "What can I get'cha? A room? Meal?"

"Both," Lyn said pleasantly, "A room for the night and a meal for when we return." Pointing to herself, she continued, "My name is Lyn," she turned and pointed to the brown-haired foreigner beside her, "And this is my companion, Cynthia."

"A pleasure to meet ya' both," the man said with a nod, "Room six, that's yours." He scratched something on one of the papers before him, "That'll be... Three-hundred-eighty gold."

"Thank you, sir," Cynthia said politely, inclining her head in a small bow. She reached into her pocket, drawing out a multitude of gold and silver coins. She deposited them one by one on the counter, smiling brightly. "There you are."

The innkeeper stared at the coins, his eyes flickering over them, counting them. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied, and scooped them into a drawer under the counter. "Pleasure doing business with you, ladies."

Lyn nodded and turned back towards the door without another word, the young tactician following suit almost immediately. They emerged back into the town square, which, oddly, seemed to be even more empty than it had just five minutes before. The only sounds came from the fountain at the center, the water gurgling happily in the warmth of the afternoon.

Lyn looked at her travel companion, opening her mouth to speak. What came, though, was definitely not the Sacaen's voice at all.

"Oh! Be still, my beating heart! What dazzling beauty in such a remote place!"

There was a tell-tale sound of hooves on brick pavement, the rhythm indicating a horse in a light trot. Lyn abandoned whatever she had been about to say, choosing instead to glance curiously to the side. There wasn't anyone else in the town square, so it had been obvious to whom the rather... lecherous comments had been directed to.

And, from whom they had come.

A chestnut stallion pranced toward them, its rider a rather foolish looking man in green armor. He brought his horse to a halt beside the girls, smiling charmingly down at them, "Ahhh, truly you both must be angels from on high! Never have I seen such stunning radiance!"

Lyn cocked her head, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Do I _know_ you?" she asked bluntly. The Sacaen took a step in front of her companion, as if protecting her from a horrible beast.

Cynthia did not protest at all to being protected. In fact, her brown eyes had grown wide, and she did her best to hide behind Lyn's taller form, clinging to older woman's back like a small child in a strange place. But it wasn't the man she was focused on.

It was his horse.

"No, it is a sad state of affairs, but I'm afraid you do not," the man continued, ignoring the eye roll from the Sacaen on the ground. "But, truly, it must be Fate that has brought us together on this day! Such beautiful women as yourselves should not be traveling alone! Most certainly not!"

Cynthia poked her head over Lyn's shoulder, tearing her eyes away from the animal, and to the man in the saddle. She cocked her head, mimicking Lyn's earlier movements almost exactly. "He's a knight..." she said quietly, indicating the lance strapped to the saddle.

The man seemed to grow even more ecstatic upon hearing that. He turned his horse so that he could get a better look at the trembling tactician, who gave a small yelp as the animal approached her. The knight didn't seem to notice.

"Fair maiden!" he began enthusiastically, bowing slightly in his saddle, "You are correct! I am indeed a gallant knight of Lycia. I hail from the proud territory of Caelin, home to men of passion and fire!"

Lyn scowled, grabbing her friend's arm and dragging her behind her again. "Shouldn't that be: 'home to callow oafs with loose tongues'!" she demanded hotly, "Honestly! And here I believed that Lycia's knights were honorable men!"

"Sain!" Cynthia flinched as the new voice was accompanied by the sound of pounding hooves. Another knight pulled up beside the first, this one adorned with red armor. He pulled his horse in front of his companion's, turning to face the women on the ground. "My apologies, ladies," he said wearily, running a hand through his hair.

Lyn's anger seemed to quell a bit, satisfied that not all hope was lost for Lycia's knights. She placed her hands on her hips. "Thank you," she said, her voice stiff, "I'm glad there are still _some_ knights who know the meaning of virtue."

He didn't respond. He simply watched as the girls made their way around the knight's horses and walked away, disappearing into the stream of people that led to the market place.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"That girl..."

Sain grinned, taking the muttered comment as an indication of something completely different. "Quite a beauty, wasn't she? Sacaen blood gives women that exotic charm, I think." He tapped his chin, falling into his own twisted musings, "And the other one? Quite a catch, too, I must say. Though, still, her Sacaen friend outshines her. The little one couldn't have been Sacaen, a bit too plain for that. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was Lycian, but..." Again, a grin formed on his lips, "I haven't seen a girl to match her beauty in all of Lycia."

"You say that about every woman you meet, Sain." Kent wasn't in the mood for reprimanding his friend, and Sain was taking advantage of every second of it. And, for the moment, the crimson knight couldn't care less.

There was something about that girl...

"Sain... Did you get a good look at that young woman's face?" Kent asked suddenly, snapping Sain out of his lecherous thoughts. "Was there something... odd about her?"

"Odd?" The emerald knight cocked his head, racking his brain for anything that seemed out of place. "Well, maybe. Her skin was rather fair for a Sacaen; most are tanned dark. That and the angles of her face were much softer than most Sacaen's. In fact, her face resembled her companion's in a way..."

For the first time in his life, Kent was thankful for his friend's womanizing.

It was then that he realized just why the girl had seemed so familiar. He had seen that face many, many times before. Except, when he had seen it, it had been framed by the shimmering chestnut hair of the Lady Madelyn in her portraits, not the forest green hair of a young Sacaen..

But, if those pictures were any indication, that girl had to be, without a doubt, Lady Madelyn's beloved child.

"Let's go, Sain," Kent said flatly, nudging his horse into a trot. "We've got to find her."

Sain hesitated for a moment, surprised at the sudden order. He urged his horse to move forward at a pace that left him a beat behind his companion. "What? Why?"

Kent didn't look back, simply chose to scan the crowd for the woman's companion, it would be easier to find a head of brown hair in a sea of green, rather than the green itself. "Just look at her face," he explained, "She looks so much like..."

Sain finally caught on, pulling his horse beside Kent's. "What! Really? That girl is..."

"Yes! Now, hurry! Help me find her!"

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"Are we done? I feel like we've been shopping forever."

Lyn nodded briskly, dropping the last bit of vulneraries into her satchel. She went over the list in her head, then nodded again, adding a smile to the movement. "Yes, that should be everything. We should have enough provisions to get us to Ilia with some left over."

Cynthia returned the smile, trailing the Sacaen as they made their way through the marketplace. The busy part of the day had ended and the stands were beginning to close. The people filed out as fast as they had come, leaving the entire market relatively empty.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Lyn..." the tactician began, "Why did you pick Ilia?" She waited a beat, and her friend didn't respond. "It's not that I'm against going there," she continued slowly, "I just never thought that those from Sacae would be interested at all in Ilia."

"Well... normally, we aren't," Lyn said, speaking slowly as if she was choosing her words carefully. "But I have a friend in Ilia... I haven't seen her in a while and I thought it might be nice to pay her a visit instead of the other way around."

"Oh. I see."

The pair walked on in a comfortable silence. Cynthia hummed lightly to herself, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. She never imagined that _shopping_ could wear one out, but it had indeed. She couldn't wait for a good, inn-cooked meal and a comfortable bed.

"Hey... Cynthia."

"Hm?" The tactician opened her eyes, looking back at the Sacaen ahead of her. Lyn had stopped moving and was pointing to something that Cynthia couldn't see. "... What is it, Lyn?"

"... Aren't those the knights from before?" Lyn asked, irritation worming into her voice. "Are they... following us?"

Cynthia stepped forward, peering around the booth that had been blocking her vision. Just as Lyn had said, the two Lycian knights from before were situated not too far away, but neither of them seemed to be looking in their direction. "... No, I don't think so. They look like they're trying to find something, though."

Just as she spoke, the green knight turned, his eyes falling exactly on the two girls. His face seemed to light up, and he turned eagerly to his companion, pointing at them as he spoke. The red knight turned, and he located them fairly easily as well. Relief seemed to cross his face, and almost immediately, the two kicked their horses into a trot.

Lyn grimaced. "Yeah, they were looking for something all right. Us." She turned, grasping Cynthia's wrist and pulling her in the opposite direction. "Come on, I don't want to bother with them right now."

"W-Wait! Lyn! Where are we going?"

The Sacaen nodded towards the gate, gesturing with her free hand. "We're just going to act like we're leaving. Maybe hide in a bush or something. They'll think we left and give us some peace and quiet."

"But, Lyn..."

Bulgar never closed its gates. Most Sacaens were trained in the ways of battle, whether it be with a bow or a sword, so the entire town could take up arms against bandits if need be. At night, as an extra precaution, two guards were stationed at the entrance. Now, though, the sun was still a ways away from the horizon, and there was still quite a bit of light left in the day.

The girls exited the town, and Lyn veered to the left, headed for a patch of bushes. Even Cynthia had to agree, it was pretty much a flawless plan. As long as the knights didn't go searching for them, and they didn't allow themselves to be seen, it was likely they'd be able to give them the slip.

But, it seemed Fate wasn't done playing with them yet.

"Go on, it'll be better if we separate. It's easier to hide one person in a bush than two."

Cynthia grudgingly obeyed, taking a deep breath and diving into the foliage as if it were a pool of water. She expected the sting of small branches and twigs digging into her. She expected the irritating feeling of leaves in her hair. What she didn't expect was her head colliding with something soft and warm.

Cynthia yelped and sat up straight, her hands massaging her skull gently as a stinging pain permeated from where she had bumped her head. But, before she could even question what had happened, she felt her body being shoved backwards, and something cold press against her throat. Her eyes shot open, taking in the form of a sneering bandit, his axe pressed to her neck and his free hand holding her down.

Apparently, she had tried to steal his hiding spot.

"Not a word, little girl," the brigand snarled, grinning as she whimpered under the weight of his axe. "You scream an' off goes yer head!" His grin transformed into a mock-pout, and his voice took on a nasally imitation of pity. "Such ah shame. You a pretty one, ain't 'cha? I could sell you for a pretty penny, I could."

"Unhand her, vile villain!"

There was a flash of steel in sunlight, and the squelch of a weapon making its mark. The pressure on Cynthia's throat loosened, and the hand fell away from her chest. She let her eyes open to a crack, and gasped at the bloody sight before her.

The bandit had slumped to the side, a glimmering sword protruding from his chest. The blade was stained with blood, but what little was left clean winked at her in the late afternoon sun. The brigand's axe had fallen limp; he hadn't even gotten the chance to register the attack, much less try to counter it.

"Are you all right, Fair Maiden?"

Cynthia looked up, her eyes meeting the grinning face of the green knight from before. This time, however, he was without his mount, apparently having chosen to rescue her on foot. She nodded dumbly, astounded at the recent turn of events. He returned the favor, then reached over her and grabbed the hilt of his sword. He tugged it free, grimacing at the crimson coat of blood it sported. "You see? I told you that beautiful girls such as yourselves shouldn't travel alone."

Cynthia stared blankly, her mouth unable to form complete sentences. He returned the sword to its sheath, then offered her a hand. She took it gratefully, and he helped her to her feet. She felt blood rush from her head, and she touched a hand to her temple to steady herself. "H-How did you know... where I was?" she gasped finally, staring up at him again, wide-eyed.

"Why, your beautiful Guardian Angel told me," he said proudly. He gestured with his right hand, and her eyes fell on the form of Lyn, her sword out and covered with blood. The other knight was beside her, still in his saddle, and seemed to be arguing with her. Not too far from where they were standing was another horse, chewing idly on the grass at its feet.

Sain cocked his head, studying the tactician for a moment. "... You _are_ all right?" he asked again, "You're dreadfully pale."

"... Y-Yes, I'm fine," Cynthia said, swallowing hard. "Just... a little shaken..."

"Cynthia!" Lyn had spun around, recognizing the faint sound of her friend's voice. The Sacaen dropped whatever conversation she had been having with the knight and sprinted over, stopping a short distance away. "You're all right!"

"... Yes." Cynthia forced a weak smile, and gestured to the man beside her. "He... saved me."

Lyn glanced up at the knight. She narrowed her eyes briefly, but bowed her head in a gesture of gratitude. "... Thank you."

"Ah!" Cynthia, realizing she had forgotten, immediately ducked into a much lower bow, her hair sliding over her shoulder and coiling on the ground. "Yes! Thank you so much! I-I owe you my life!"

Sain grinned, soaking up every moment of the positive attention. "No need for gratitude, my angels! Your man-at-arms Sain will always be here to protect you!"

"Sain, that's enough!" The crimson knight rode up beside them, his face serious. "There are others we still need to take care of, remember?"

"Yes! Right!" Sain paused to give the girls one final, sweeping bow, then hurried off in the direction of his horse. He seemed ecstatic at the thought of a battle, and swung swiftly into his saddle. He drew his lance and pointed it into the trees, a triumphant grin on his face. "If it is a battle they seek, a battle they shall have!"

Lyn bristled at this, her hand tightening around her sword hilt. She lifted it to shoulder-level, pointing it menacingly at the emerald knight several feet away from her. "No!" she shouted, her voice seething, "I told you this over and over again! This is my battle, and you _will_ stay out of it!"

Sain pouted, lowering his lance and turning to look at her. "But..."

The other knight glanced down at her, folding his arms thoughtfully. "Surely there must be something we can do to assist," he said quietly, "Is it possible to compromise?"

"There is a way, I think..." All three turned their attention to the shaken girl on the sidelines. Now, though, the color had returned to her cheeks, and she didn't seem frightened by the bandits any longer. Instead, she was eyeing Kent's stallion warily. "I... I can give you orders," she said, "I'm a tactician. I can balance it out so Lyn gets to fight and you get to help." She turned her gaze to the fuming Sacaen, "... Is that all right, Lyn?"

The plainswoman scowled, "I suppose it will do. These knights are so stubborn; I guess there's no other way."

Sain gave a cheer, lifting his lance into the air once more.

"It's agreed, then." The crimson knight nodded, "We will have the young lady command us." He turned to Cynthia, and indicated the green knight prancing around in circles on the grass, "That is Sain," he said, "And my name is Kent. Order us as you will."

The traveler nodded. "All right, then. My name is Cynthia. I assume you and Lyn have already met." The Sacaen in question snorted at that comment, and Kent only nodded solemnly. Sain called something about knowing their names before he even laid eyes on them.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Cynthia situated herself behind Lyn, watching as the knights took their places on her flanks. Satisfied, she scanned the area, searching for the remaining bandits. According to Lyn, the brigands had been planning a raid on Bulgar, and were hiding in the bushes until nightfall. Apparently, Cynthia wasn't the only one who had run into a brigand in her attempt to hide.

"There. You see him?" Lyn pointed vaguely with her hand, indicating a cluster of trees. At first, the tactician saw nothing, but then there was the glint of sun on steel. It lasted only a moment, but it was easily identified.

"There's that one, and then there's their leader." Lyn grimaced pointing somewhere further back, "As much as I hate to admit it, he looked a little too tough for me to handle on my own."

"Okay..." Cynthia turned over possibilities in her mind. The easiest, she decided, would be to send one of the knights after the first bandit, and then send the other to go with Lyn and strike down the leader.

The question was: Which knight went where?

"Sain!"

The emerald knight bobbed his head, eager for orders. "I am at your command, my Fair Maiden!" he responded, "Just ask and I will obey!"

Cynthia rolled her eyes, a small smile forming on her lips. "Sain, I need you to take out the bandit in the trees. There." She pointed where Lyn had said the first bandit was. The knight gave a sharp nod and nudged his horse forward, brandishing his lance like some storybook hero.

"Lyn, Kent." The last two members of her little militia glanced at her, ready to be dispatched. "You two cross the bridge and engage their leader. When Sain is done, I'll have him help you out."

"Right." Lyn sprang forward, dashing with her hand on her sword like she had done in their first battle. Kent followed suit, urging his horse into a gallop. Cynthia followed as well, but at a much slower pace, so as not to draw attention to herself.

Sain slowed his horse only slightly when he reached the cluster of trees. He had located the bandit fairly easily once he had gotten close; brigands never were bright enough to hide themselves well. "Coward!" he shouted into the brush, lifting his lance threateningly, "Come out here and fight!"

There was a snarl, and the bandit leapt from the depths of the brush. He swung his axe downward, making an attempt at a haphazard cut down the front of Sain's steed. The emerald knight tugged hard on his reins, forcing the horse to rear. The bandit roared as his axe plunged downward, missing its target completely, and dug deep into the earth below.

Sain pulled his reins again, this time to turn the horse mid-rear, so that its hooves had a clear place to land. He brought his lance down at an angle, aimed directly for the brigand's back. The weapon, however, met only steel as the brigand tore his axe from the earth and intercepted Sain's lance. The two fought for dominance over the other, but it did not last long.

The bandit's axe overpowered Sain's lance, knocking it away like a pesky fly. Taking the opportunity, the bandit leapt forward, this time aiming his axe at the knight himself. Sain pulled his horse away in a last attempt to dodge, but the axe nicked him, cutting beneath his armor and into his side.

The emerald knight cursed as his horse tore away, circling back for a charge. Blood poured at a steady, throbbing rate, creating a crimson trail behind him. The bandit didn't chase after him, simply stood where he was. He grinned at the knight, spreading his arms out as if daring him to try again.

And try again he did.

Sain kicked his horse again, this time pushing it into full gallop. Another kick, and the stallion knew to charge. It lowered its head, giving the rider ample room to wield his lance, and Sain positioned his weapon at just the right spot.

The bandit raised his defenses. He lifted his axe, as if intending to cut down the horse before Sain was even in range. He didn't, however, take into account the sheer length of the knight's weapon, leaving him completely prone to attack.

Sain took advantage of the bandit's ignorance, leaning forward and plunging his lance heavily into the criminal's shoulder. The brigand gave a strangled cry, clawing at the weapon lodged in his body. Sain grimaced, grasping the lance's handle, and tore it violently free as his horse charged past. The bandit fell to the ground, screaming, clutching the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

Within seconds, he fell limp.

Sain circled back, letting his horse slow down its pace. His adrenaline rush gone, the full force of his wound hit him. He cursed under his breath, sliding the lance back into its holster, and gripped his side tightly with one hand. His breathing had become ragged, and warm blood still gushed at a steady pace from his wound.

"Sain!" The emerald knight looked up, the tactician's voice reaching his ears. She was standing several feet away, her hands cupped around her mouth. "Sain, are you all right!"

"Y-Yes! No need to worry!" He gently looked down at his hand, grimacing at the amount of blood that coated his palm. Truly, it had not been a very deep cut, and it would not bleed for much longer, but it certainly did bleed a lot.

"Sain!" She shouted again, drawing his attention away from the wound and back to her. "Cross the bridge and find Kent and Lyn! Get a vulnerary from them first, then help them fight the leader!"

He nodded to show he understood, and tugged on his reins with his free hand. The horse snorted, lifting its head from the ground where it had been snacking while its master was preoccupied. It picked up its pace with a silent order from Sain, crossing the bridge and galloping toward where the final battle was being held.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Lyn ducked as the leader swung frantically at her. She and Kent had been wearing him down over the course of a few minutes, and the battle was turning out to be relatively easy. He wasn't coordinated enough to deal with two enemies at once, and found himself time and time again open to attack from one while he was busy trying to cut down the other.

This was one such time.

Again she dodged one of his frenzied swings, this one missing her side by a large margin. She raised her blade into a defensive position, and he swung again, colliding roughly with her weapon. Like before, his strength was far greater than her own, and would overpower her easily given enough time.

But before, she didn't have a partner to get her out of such messes.

Kent's steed whinnied loudly as it charged past, almost as if it could feel victory about to be taken. The crimson knight's sword made contact with the bandit leader's back, digging deeply into his flesh. The bandit roared in pain, his axe releasing its hold on Lyn's blade, and giving her the perfect opportunity to end his misery.

She thrust her sword forward, the blade sinking deeply into the leader's chest, piercing his heart in one fell swoop. He doubled over Lyn's sword, his only last words an unintelligible fit of coughing before he finally fell silent.

"A fine battle, milady." Kent returned on his steed, sheathing his sword with a metallic hiss. "You handle your sword well."

"... Thank you." Lyn pulled her sword free, kicking the limp body away as she drew it out. "You're very good yourself."

"Ahhh, my lovely angel! Such a spectacular display! Never in my life have I seen such graceful beauty!" Sain announced his arrival, once again, guiding his stallion in a gentle trot. Though his voice was as energetic as ever, the emerald knight himself was worse for wear. His left hand was planted firmly on a wound on his side, and his face looked pale and weary.

Kent urged his horse forward, riding beside his companion, "Sain, were you injured?"

"Ah, yes..." Sain lifted his hand, revealing the blood-soaked wound underneath. "It _is _just a scratch, but I'm under direct orders from our lovely tactician to dress it. And, of course, it would be discourteous to gray that beautiful chestnut hair from worry!"

Kent rolled his eyes, leaning over to reach a pack strapped to his saddle. He brought out a small bag, and handed it to the knight beside him. "Here. Drink the liquid vulnerary. We'll wrap it up with a normal one in a moment."

Sain grinned, already digging into the tiny bag. "Yes, Mother," he chuckled, bringing out a tiny clay bottle. He downed it in a single swig, and replaced the flask where he had found it. "Ahh, thank you, Kent! Already I feel ready for another wave of those villains!"

"Don't curse us, Sain, I'd rather not have to deal with brigands at night," Lyn said flatly. Her fears were well-founded, as the sun had already begun its trek beneath the horizon, casting a faint shade of blue over the Sacae plains. They would have to leave soon if they didn't want trouble with the city guards.

But, the guards were the last things on the Sacaen's mind. "Sain, do you know where Cynthia is?" Lyn asked absently, sliding her sword back into its sheath.

"I'm right here." The tactician in question appeared out of the darkness, appearing slightly winded, as if she had been running for a long time. "Sorry to worry you." She smiled sheepishly, lifting her cloak to show the others a shallow rip in the fabric, "I got caught on a root."

Lyn shook her head, a smile forming on her lips for the first time in over an hour. Now that Cynthia was back, she could move on to the next thought plaguing her. One that had been nipping the back of her mind the entire battle.

"Now, before we do anything else..." Lyn placed her hands on her hips, turning a hardened gaze on the two knights before her. "Why were you two looking for us?" she demanded, "Why did you follow us?"

Kent frowned solemnly, and swung out of his horse's saddle. He remained at the stallion's side, preoccupying himself with checking the saddle's straps and buckles. Finally, he sighed heavily, stopping his work and looking over at the Sacaen woman. "Your name... is Lyndis, is it not?"


	4. A Grand Inheritance

Chapter Three: A Grand Inheritance

_Lyndis?_

Cynthia sat on the edge of her bed, studying the withered boards at her feet. Lyn sat across from her, head in her hands, as if she was mourning a loss. There was a lingering silence between them, one that made them both shift uncomfortably every few minutes.

_Who is Lyndis?_

The sun had vanished beneath the horizon, and now only a few rays managed to sneak their way up into the sky. Their skirmish with the bandits had been only two hours ago, but, to the young tactician, it felt like it had been days.

So much had happened in those measly two hours.

Those... knights. They hailed, as Sain had said, from the Caelin region of Lycia. At first, it had been an insignificant piece of information. Now, though, Cynthia was scolding herself for not questioning it sooner.

Why were knights of Lycia parading about in Sacae? Didn't they have other duties to see to? What could possibly be so important that Lord Hausen senttwo specialized knights to search for it, instead of just a general battalion?

Lyn was, apparently.

Cynthia's father had told her stories of Caelin, of Lord Hausen and his rebellious daughter. He had told her Lady Madelyn's story only once, however, and the tale had become dim in her mind. She had not understood it as a child, and so it naturally faded from her memory.

Now, though, it was vivid. Kent and Sain had relayed the tale to them, this time, though, piecing it together and linking Lyn easily with it. Now, the older woman seemed like an entirely different person. She was no longer the fiery Lyn of Sacae, but the long-lost princess of Caelin.

She was Lady Lyndis.

The knights had given Lyn a choice. She could continue on her journey with Cynthia, and Kent and Sain would return to Caelin to give the news of her decision to Lord Hausen. Or, she could choose to return with them to Lycia.

On the surface, it was a relatively simple choice. But, for Lyn, there were countless other factors to consider.

The knights had told them of her granduncle, Lord Lundgren. Until the letter had come, he was in line for the throne after his brother. With the discovery of Lyn, however, he was bumped back down in rank. It seemed he still intended to become Caelin's next Marquess.

Which meant Lyn had to 'disappear'.

And still, despite that, the Sacaen was having trouble deciding.

"... Cynthia."

The tactician glanced up, meeting her friend's gaze squarely. "... Have you made a decision?" she asked timidly. Both of them knew what the other was thinking about; there was no need to draw it out.

Lyn looked away. "I... want to go with them," she said quietly, "I-I know this complicates things, but..." She curled her hands into fists, resting them on her knees. "If what they say is true, then... He's the only family I have left. I have to meet him, if only once. And... I can't just run from my granduncle for the rest of my life. I'm not a coward."

"I know. I understand." Cynthia sighed heavily, as if letting a huge amount of tension out of her body. Her shoulders loosened, and a smile broke out on her face. "Well, we certainly have enough supplies. Combined with Kent and Sain's, we probably have enough to get to Caelin and back!"

Lyn cocked her head, staring blankly at her friend. "Yes, I suppose..." She fell silent, but only for a moment. Suddenly, her eyes lit up in surprise, gathering exactly what Cynthia had been implying. "... Wait, 'we'?"

"You didn't really think I'd let you go through this alone, did you?"

Lyn let a smile break on her face. "... Thank you."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"No."

"Cynthia, please?"

"No!"

"Stop being stubborn!"

"I said, _no_!"

Lyn sighed in exasperation, hanging her head. "This is hopeless," she groaned, "We're never going to get anywhere at this rate."

The four were standing at the gates of Bulgar. The early morning sun was already beginning to warm the town, a prelude to the relentless heat of Sacae afternoons. Lyn, as promised, had met the knights in the lobby of the inn, and told them of her decision.

Both cavaliers had been ecstatic, arranging for them to leave almost immediately. They had picked up a few more supplies for the journey, even arranged for another horse for their new companions. Now, however, there was one last complication that had to be overcome before they could leave Bulgar.

Cynthia would not get on the horse.

It was a beautiful gray mare, standing calmly at Lyn's side. Its large brown eyes watched the tactician with mild interest, as if the animal were amused by her antics. The mare whuffed softly, tossing its head out of impatience. Cynthia immediately flinched, drawing even farther away from the creature.

Kent took note of this. He tugged lightly on his reigns, drawing his own steed a step closer to the young girl. Cynthia's gaze immediately switched from Lyn's horse to Kent's powerful stallion, and her face seemed to pale slightly. Kent stared at her, slowly tipping his head to the side. "... Cynthia." He spoke her name to call her attention, and she warily turned her gaze to him, "Are you, perchance... Afraid of horses?"

The tactician drew back in shock, her eyes widening slightly. "Wh-What?" she stammered, "N-No, of course not!" She wrung her hands nervously, her gaze, once again, shifting back to the animals in front of her. "That's... That's silly. Scared of horses... Absurd!"

Lyn shifted her weight, her gaze becoming more sympathetic. "Cynthia... I understand if you're afraid, but we need to–"

"I tell you, I'm _not_!" Cynthia cried, folding her arms over her chest. Her tone of voice went up an octave, making her sound like a small child protesting her vegetables. "I am _not_ afraid of horses!" In response to this, Kent once again nudged his steed forward. Cynthia drew back another step, releasing a small yelp.

Lyn sighed, the softness in her eyes vanishing almost as quickly as it had come. "Oh, for the love of– What would _you_ call it then?"

A faint blush spread across the tactician's cheeks, and the desperation in her voice fell apart, replaced by her former stubbornness. "I... I just don't like them, is all," she said weakly, "Yes, that's it. I ... just don't like them."

"Even if that is so," Sain said gently, "It truly doesn't get us anywhere, wouldn't you agree? We must get to Caelin as soon as possible." He flashed her a smile, "Besides, I couldn't possibly let a lady such as yourself wear herself out by walking, and, of course, I would hate to see lovely Lady Lyndis's beauty marred by worry."

"But I..."

"How about this?" Lyn swung into her saddle, staring down at the shivering girl. "Either you get on this horse," she patted the mare's neck as she spoke, her gaze never moving, "Or we leave you here. You're choice."

Cynthia looked taken aback. "Wh-What? You'd... You'd leave me here?"

"I don't want to, but I would," Lyn said calmly, "We need to leave here soon, and if you're going to go with us on this trip, you're going to have to learn to deal with a horse or two."

"Or three..." Cynthia muttered darkly, studying the mare with distrust. A silence lingered between the four, until finally the tactician threw her arms up into the air. "Oh...! Oh, fine!" she whined, taking a few, nervous steps toward the animal, "But if that thing throws me off and I break a leg, it's your fault, hear me?"

Lyn laughed lightly, reaching down to help her friend up, "Yes, yes, I understand," she said, "Now come on, we don't have all day!"

Cynthia reached up, taking Lyn's hand firmly and swinging up behind her, settling uneasily on a pad behind the saddle. The animal snorted at the extra weight, shifting in an attempt to make the tactician settle more comfortably. Cynthia gave a cry, wrapping her arms tightly around Lyn's waist, clinging onto her friend for dear life.

Lyn looked back at her. "You all right?"

"Y-Yes."

"We're going to leave now, okay?"

"Y-Yes."

Lyn clicked her tongue, nudging the horse into a trot. Cynthia cried out as the animal lurched forward, tightening her grip considerably on the Sacaen. Lyn coughed at the sudden pressure, and gently pried the tactician's hands until her grip loosened. In response, Cynthia shut her eyes tightly, burying her face into Lyn's back.

It was going to be a _long_ journey to Caelin.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Gradually, Cynthia became more used to riding. She allowed herself to relax, though she still clung to Lyn as if letting go would be the death of her. Every now and then the mare would jerk in a random direction, whinnying in amusement whenever her trembling charge cried out.

Lyn tried to begin light conversation, a thinly veiled attempt to calm the tactician as best she could. She commented on things like the weather and such, but none of her three companions had much to say after talking for an hour about such things.

Regardless, Cynthia appreciated the gesture, and tried her best to speak animatedly with the others. Still, though, the thought of her sitting on such an unpredictable animal lingered in the back of her mind and refused to lay dormant for more than a few minutes.

Hours and hours passed as they traveled east, heading for an unknown destination. There was no change in scenery the entire time. Just the same, rolling fields of grass dotted with the occasional shrub or tree. The sun followed them eagerly, its rays warming their backs, but leaving everything else in the shadows. More than once, Sain shifted uncomfortably, obviously distressed by the extra heat his heavy armor provided.

"How are you holding up, Cynthia?" Lyn asked lightly, again trying to spawn conversation.

"I'm... fine... fine, thanks," the tactician murmured, focusing her eyes on the grass below her. Suddenly, another thought occurred to her, one that successfully pried her mind away from the horse and their journey, if only for a moment. "Hey... Lyn?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are we going?" Cynthia asked softly, craning her head to look around her friend, "If we want to go to Lycia we have to go west..."

"I wanted to stop by the Shrine near here," Lyn explained, a small smile forming on her lips. "It's a tradition. Whenever someone goes on a long journey, they stop by the Shrine and pray at the sword kept there. It's said that the Mani Katti has been blessed by the Spirits, and provides protection for travelers." She sat up in her saddle, peering over the horizon, "We should be there soon."

"Really..." Cynthia fell silent again, but before her thoughts could drift back to her fears, another thought entered her mind. "Hey, wait a minute! How come I'm the only one who didn't know about this?" It was obvious by the way the two knights hadn't protested that they knew all about Lyn's plans to visit the shrine.

"You would've known if you'd stopped whining for three seconds," Lyn said with a laugh, "I explained everything to Kent and Sain while you were off cowering in the corner."

Cynthia stiffened indignantly. "I _told_ you!" she cried, "I am _not_ afraid of horses!"

"Ladies, ladies! There's no need to fight!" Sain said eagerly, as if he were enjoying the girls' argument, but needed to stop it anyway. "We save the battle for the enemies! And, regardless, it would be most distressing to see–"

"Sain, please, don't start," Lyn said dully, abandoning their argument where it stood. Sain pouted, but grudgingly obeyed.

But the emerald knight wasn't done talking yet. He seemed uncomfortable with the ongoing silence that had formed between the four, and so picked up where Lyn had left off in light conversation. "Lady Cynthia, I've been wondering..."

The tactician sighed heavily.

Sain apparently didn't notice. "We have quite a few strategists in Caelin," he continued, glancing at her sideways, "Yet every single one of them must double your age, if not triple." He opened his mouth to say something else, something most likely _not_ associated with the difference in tactician ages, but was silenced by a glare from Lyn.

"Just what are you getting at, Sain?"

This time, though, it was Kent who spoke up. "I have seen it, too," he said slowly, "I've never met a strategist as young as you are, Cynthia. They are all at least thirty, usually older."

Cynthia shrugged lightly, as if dismissing her young age as trivial. "I _am_ still just an apprentice," she reminded them, "I don't know if you should really call me a full tactician yet."

"Even so. The tacticians' apprentices are only a few years younger than the tacticians themselves," Kent pointed out, "Your teacher must be extraordinary."

"... Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"Well, regardless, Cynthia is our tactician, and nothing is going to change that," Lyn said proudly, effectively cutting off the conversation. "I, for one, trust her with my life."

"Lyn..."

Silence, once again, reigned over the small company. Cynthia's thoughts began to drift once more, and, gradually, her grip on Lyn's waist tightened. Nothing, she realized bitterly, could draw her away from that blasted animal.

As another hour slowly passed, the flat, monotonous terrain gave way to rockier hills, even more so than the area around Lyn's home. Trees became more numerous, giving the endless plains a bit more variety. Tall hills rose in the distance, painted completely with shimmering, flowing grass. They coated the horizon, reaching up into the sky, framed by pure white clouds.

Lyn leaned forward on her horse, another smile breaking out on her face, "Look! There! That's the shrine!" She pointed, indicating a worn and weathered stone building, nestled cozily in the nook of many of the tall hills seen before.

It was a rather short structure, not any taller than the gers of the nomads. It was old, obviously, and each stone was deteriorating in its own way. Some were crumbling, others were only cracked. In fact, a large section of the wall was so severely damaged, that it was possible to see even from a distance.

"Cynthia, if you want, you can get down and walk the rest of the way," Lyn said, looking back at her young friend. "It shouldn't take us much longer to get there, anyway."

Cynthia perked immediately. "R-Really? Wonderful!" Not even waiting for Lyn to bring the horse to a halt, the young tactician swung her legs over one side of the animal, pushing off and landing awkwardly on the ground. The force threw her off balance, and she stumbled sideways before regaining her bearings.

"You could've waited for me to stop, you know," Lyn said, tilting her head with interest.

Cynthia blushed, but grinned up at her friends nonetheless. She stretched her arms, sighing heavily, "Wonderful, wonderful, solid ground!"

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

The Mani Katti stood serenely on its altar, a silent witness of the horrific events playing out in its holy presence. Crimson blood pooled on the floor, permanently staining the stone a gory red. Monks lay collapsed in heaps against the walls, many dead. Brigands lined the doorway, grinning stupidly at the sight before them.

Their leader stood at the altar, his longsword held loosely at his side, the metal red from murder. He let it fall to the ground, clattering uselessly against the concrete. He reached out, grasping the hilt of the sacred sword, and removed it, sheath and all, from its resting place.

"Magnificent." He turned it over, inspecting every inch of the scabbard, "Absolutely magnificent." He laughed cruelly, grabbing the sheath with his free hand. "This truly is a sword worthy of my skills! The Mani Katti itself!"

"S-Stop!" An old man appeared from the back room, leaning heavily on the doorway. Long, azure robes wrapped around his body from head to toe, an indication of a well-respected bishop. His breathing was heavy and ragged, weary from the injury he had received in the sudden assault. "I... I will not allow you... to steal the... the Mani Katti!"

"Pah. Stupid old man," The bandit leader replaced the sacred weapon on its altar, leaning down to pick up his abandoned blade. "You should've died with the rest of them." He tilted the sword, showing the blood encrusted edge to the old man.

The bishop coughed, stiffening at the sight of the blood-coated sword. "M-Monster..." he whispered hoarsely. "You... You will not... have your way..."

"You think so do you?" The bishop only glared from his position against the doorframe. "You fail to see what is right in front of you," The bandit grinned, pointing his sword directly at the old man's chest. "I _will_ have this sword. No... I _already_ have this sword!" To prove his point, he reached behind him, ripping the Mani Katti from its altar. Once again, he threw his old blade to the side, taking the decorated scabbard in both hands. "And, just so you never forget it, I will give you the honor of being the first to die by this sword!"

The bishop watched silently, and the bandit grasped the Mani Katti's hilt. He gave it a swift tug...

... And nothing happened.

Visibly confused, the bandit pulled again, harder this time. Still, the sacred blade would not shift in its scabbard. "... Wh-What?" He glared at the bishop, pulling uselessly on the Mani Katti's hilt. "Accursed old man! What did you do to this sword?"

"I... did nothing," the bishop said flatly. "The Mani Katti... cannot be drawn... by those who lack the right..."

"What are you babbling on about, old man? Spit it out!"

"The... spirits... They have found you... unsuitable... They reject you... as they should..."

"G-Glass, whatta we gonna' do?" one bandit asked timidly, his face falling. "If ya' can't draw the thing, then..."

"Shut up!" Glass shouted, glaring at the brigand. He gestured wildly with his right hand, pointing vaguely in the bishop's direction. "Just... Just lock him in the back room or something!"

The bandit obeyed immediately, pushing through the crowd in the doorway. He shoved the bishop roughly, knocking the him to the ground inside his chambers. "We'll be back for ya' later, old man," he spat, kicking him in the side. "Don't ya' worry about that." With that last statement, he slammed the door shut, locking it with a turn of the key.

Glass threw the Mani Katti back on its altar, leaving the blade tilting haphazardly on its podium. "Stupid bishop. I _will_ find out what magics you used on that sword. And when I do..."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"Your Excellency! Bishop Seward! Are you all right, Your Excellency?"

A cleric knelt by the bishop's side, distressed both by the fact that her mentor had been injured as well as the fact that she was powerless to help him. The brigands had thrown her in the back room, confiscating her staff and then proceeding to shatter its gem. "Your Excellency, please! Open your eyes!"

"Abigail... calm yourself..." The old man obeyed the cleric's request, studying the girl with clouded irises. "... You must go..." he muttered, slowly rising to his knees. Abigail cried out at this, grasping his shoulders firmly in an attempt to keep him from moving. "Go... Go... and find... help."

"Yes, Your Excellency, I would go! But I simply cannot! We are trapped in this room!"

"... Go... go to the... window."

The cleric hesitated, but obeyed, rising quickly to her feet and darting the few feet to the window overlooking the plains. It was a fairly large window, large enough for her to fit through, anyway. Beside it was a tall bookshelf, filled to the brim with all the books Bishop Seward used to teach the new monks and clerics.

Abigail banged uselessly on the clouded glass, her untrained arms not strong enough to shatter it. Panicked, she groped around the bookshelf, lifting the largest leather-bound tome she could find and smashing it against the window.

The glass cracked, but only slightly.

She repeated the motion frantically, praying to every deity she had ever learned of that the bandits didn't hear the glass shatter and come to investigate.

Each hit brought only a few cobwebs of cracks from the main one, but the young cleric would not be deterred. She needed to find help, and quickly. Finally, after minutes had passed, her arms gave out, and the book fell to the floor.

Still, the window had not broken.

Abigail resumed banging on the glass with her fists, desperate to get out at all costs. Hot tears begun to fall from her eyes, and she began to punch more out of frustration than anything, an emotion that was looked down upon in the convent.

The cracks in the glass were so numerous that the entire pane looked as if a hammer had been taken to it. Reassured by the window's dilapidated state, Abigail gave it one, last hit.

The glass creaked...

... and fell apart.

It shattered backwards, the glass spilling out into the grass outside. Not even sparing enough time to give a cry of victory, Abigail jumped onto the windowsill, intent on getting out. Stray shards of glass pierced her hands, drops of blood spattering on her once pure-white dress. She ignored the sting in her hands and swung out of the room, landing awkwardly in the grass.

"I'll be back, Your Excellency!" she called hastily, not wanting the injured bishop to be confused, "Wait for me!"

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"Excuse me! Hello? Please, wait! I need your help!"

Lyn frowned. A figure was sprinting away from the shrine. By the looks of things, she was a young cleric, no older than fourteen or fifteen, her face framed by curls of thick blonde hair. She held up her skirt with one hand and waved desperately with the other. Lyn could clearly see blood on her palm, even from a distance. Worried, she kicked her horse, her companions crying out as she lurched forward.

The cleric reached her quickly, doubling over and panting heavily from the run. "Oh... Oh thank Mother Earth and Father Sky..." she whispered between gasps. "Please... You have to help..."

"What's going on? Did something happen?"

The girl looked up, nodding her head vigorously, "Yes! I-It's at the shrine! Bandits!" She swallowed hard, as if unwilling to speak of it, "T-They killed so many people! They hurt Bishop Seward and... and locked us in the back room! I heard their leader say..." She swallowed again, "He said... he was going to steal the Mani Katti!"

"What?" Lyn's voice rose from disbelief and anger, "The Mani Katti?" Sensing her fury, her mare shifted uneasily, pawing at the ground and tossing its head. Lyn peered through the afternoon sun, studying the shrine. From a distance, it looked as if nothing was wrong. But still... She would not allow anyone to try and take the Mani Katti!

"Lady Lyndis...!"

The knights pulled up beside her, their horses tossing their heads irritably. The animals had apparently gotten used to the slow trot and weren't happy that they had been forced out of it. "Lady Lyndis, what's the matter?" Sain questioned, "Why did you ride off like that?"

"It's the shrine!" the cleric wailed, balling her hands up under her chin, "Bandits are trying to steal the Mani Katti!"

"The what?"

"It's a sacred sword enshrined there," Lyn said impatiently, "We cannot allow them to steal it! It would put all of Sacae in an uproar!" She twisted around in her saddle, locating an out-of-breath tactician finally catching up with them.

"What in the name of all that's holy are you doing?" Cynthia snapped, "Leaving me behind out there like some–"

Lyn leaned down abruptly, not even allowing the tactician to finish her sentence. She grasped the older girl's wrist, hauling her back onto the saddle behind her. Cynthia gave a mixed cry of surprise and fear, clinging to the Sacaen for dear life as the horse lurched forward, leaving the knights, once again, in the dust.

"Lyn! _Lyn!_ What are you _doing_?" Cynthia screeched, her voice soaring into a high octave. The Sacaen ignored her, momentarily driven only by determination. She heard Cynthia cry out again, and winced imperceptibly as she clung even tighter than what seemed possible. "Oh my...! _Sweet Saint Elimine_!"

Cynthia was on the brink of tears when Lyn finally stopped the horse. She signaled silently to the animal to stop when they were close to the shrine, but far enough away that none of the bandits would see them. What she _didn't_ do, however, was bother to do it gradually. It halted in the middle of its gallop, and would've thrown its riders off had Lyn not already been used to a horse's potentially erratic speeds.

Cynthia, however, screeched so loud that her voice gave out even before she was finished.

The young tactician panted heavily, her voice and lungs hoarse. She released her hold on her friend, her arms falling to her sides like wet noodles. "Lyn... Don't you ever... Ever... Do that to me again," she whispered venomously.

"Sorry," Lyn said unapologetically, scanning the shrine for any signs of enemies. She turned slightly, flashing her friend a smile. "I'll warn you next time."

"You'd better." Cynthia groaned, sliding off the side of the horse and landing weakly on the ground. She sank to her knees, "Oh... Oh Saint Elimine... I'm going to be ill..." And, with that, she promptly doubled over and vomited into the grass.

"Lady Lyndis! Lady Cynthia!"

Both girls looked up, one alert and ready, the other groggy and irritable. Two powerful stallions trotted up beside them, their riders visibly annoyed.

"Lady Lyndis, I must protest," Kent said flatly, "I understand your urgency to save the sacred sword, but we must form a plan, not run in blindly."

"Yes, a plan," Sain agreed, not willing to let a conversation go without him putting in his two cents. "And you really must be more careful. You handle a horse with magnificent beauty and grace, my lady, but I'm afraid the young Lady Cynthia has lost her lunch." He smiled weakly at the tactician doubled over on the ground, "It was a good lunch, wasn't it, Lady Cynthia?"

"Shut up, Sain."

"I'm sorry," Lyn said sincerely, meeting Kent's gaze instead of risking Cynthia's icy glare. "It's just... the Mani Katti is very important to the people of Sacae..." She looked back to the shrine, "It would be terrible if it were lost."

"Even so..."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Cynthia said dully, getting shakily to her feet. "What's done is done. Besides, we're wasting time by sitting here arguing about it."

Lyn grinned. "Thank you, Cynthia." She felt a blush spread across her cheeks, "I'm... uh... Sorry I made you... sick."

Her friend did not return the smile, but she did not reprimand the Sacaen. She waved them forward with her right hand, her left holding her stomach as if that would prevent her from retching again. "Come on. I've got an idea."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Sain gave a whoop of triumph as his lance penetrated the large, cracked portion of the wall, crumbling the already weak stones. They fell apart one by one, unable to stand up against the sheer strength of the cavalier's weapon. A small cloud of dust wafted from the stone floor of the shrine."You see? The lance truly is a hero's weapon!"

"Be quiet, Sain. They'll hear us." Lyn stepped carefully over the debris, not making a sound. She had left her mare behind, abandoned in the care of a reluctant Cynthia and a trembling cleric. The tactician had grudgingly agreed to staying on the sidelines, not willing to be caught in the crossfire, nor to leave a Sister behind. She had seemed confident that the others could take care of things with the vague orders she had given.

Lyn's hand was once again wrapped around the hilt of her sword, ready to spring forth at any moment. She led the way into the dilapidated shrine.

A single brigand appeared through the small dust cloud as it began to fade, standing defenseless in the center of the hall. There didn't seem to be any others, save for what had to be their leader, standing near the altar. This would be easy.

"Lady Lyndis, wait!" Ignoring Kent's hissed warning, Lyn sprang forward, drawing her blade just as she reached the bandit, driving it horizontally into his shoulder. The axeman roared in both surprise and pain, and his axe fell and clattered to the ground. He glared at his assailant, emitting a wordless snarl, and attempted to swing his free hand into her gut. Lyn avoided the haphazard movement easily, her movements smooth and coordinated.

She prepared herself for another attack, but before she could even get into the right stance, a shooting pain cut down her back like wildfire. She cried out, falling forward and landed heavily on her stomach. Her sword flew out of her hand, clattering uselessly across the floor. Her back throbbed, and she could feel warm blood pour steadily from her wound.

The bandit leader stood above her, glaring down at her with a disapproving frown. "Stupid girl," he spat, "Don't think that every battle you encounter is so perfect that you can simply ignore other enemies in the room." He pushed her form with his boot, as if checking to see if she was dead. He suddenly grinned, leaning his large sword heavily on his shoulder. "Your mistake will be the death of you." He turned his gaze to the injured bandit, and nodded carelessly to Lyn's prone form, "Kill her."

Before the brigand could even respond, a javelin broke through the dust, flying with deadly accuracy. It impaled itself deep into the bandit's chest, piercing his heart and killing him within seconds.

Glass snarled as the axeman collapsed on the floor, turning his gaze to the knights that appeared in the shattered wall. "You should follow your own advice," Kent remarked bitterly, readying his next javelin. Sain drew his own lance from its holster, pointing it daringly at the bandit across from them.

Realizing that the odds were no longer pitched in his favor, Glass shifted his sword, pointing it over Lyn's neck. "Move, and the girl dies!" he shouted.

The knights hesitated, but both conceded, lowering their weapons obediently.

Lyn grimaced, pain still shooting relentlessly down her back. She shifted so that she was leaning on her right elbow, staring up Glass's blade and into his distracted face. She groaned softly, glancing across the floor at her sword, laying abandoned on the ground several feet away from her. There was no way she'd be able to reach it in time.

Her gaze began to drift around the room. The pain in her back had begun to numb, and her vision was fading in an out. She knew that she would pass out from blood loss soon if she didn't do something.

It was then that she saw it.

The Mani Katti had already been tilting on its podium, threatening to fall at any moment. The commotion had knocked it clean from the altar, and it had skittered several feet away from its resting place.

Its hilt was mere inches away from Lyn's hand.

Mistaking the sacred blade for an ordinary sword in her impaired state, Lyn's hand shot out, wrapping firmly around the Mani Katti's hilt. She pulled roughly on the handle, and the weapon freed itself easily, soaring through the air with an unearthly glow about it.

Glass screamed as the sacred blade sunk into his back in an awkward thrust, doing the same to him as Kent had done to his peon only moments before. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, staring down at the injured girl with shocked eyes, the irises clouded with pain. His groan came moments too late, and he fell to the ground, his body sliding off the Mani Katti's blade.

Lyn's arm fell to the floor, the sword slipping from her fingertips and clattering to the ground. Her strength vanished, and the world went black.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"... yn...?

"...ady Lyn...?

"Lady Lyn, are you awake?"

Lyn groaned, forcing her eyes open. Her eyelids were heavy, sinking back down as soon as she had gotten them open. She could barely make out a face, a pale blur framed by curly golden locks. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was sore and dry, making it impossible for her to form anything other than a weak whimper.

"She's thirsty." This voice was familiar, but Lyn could not see her face. "Sain, fetch my canteen, will you?"

"Of course."

Cynthia! If Cynthia was here, that meant... Lyn whimpered again, her eyelids slipping further over her vision.

"Lady Lyn! Don't go back to sleep!" The first voice again. Lyn forced her eyes back open, trying to focus on the face above her. Slowly, the details cleared, and the blur became the relieved face of a young cleric.

"Here you are."

"Thank you, Sain."

Another face appeared, this one more familiar. Lyn vaguely identified it as the pale face of her tactician friend, waves of light brown hair pulled back behind her ears. Cynthia tipped the mouth of her canteen to the Sacaen's lips, and Lyn eagerly accepted the water that poured forth. She let out a contented sigh, the cool liquid calming her burning throat. "Th... Thank you..." she whispered hoarsely.

Cynthia smiled, helping the girl to sit up. "That was some show you put on," she said cheerfully, "Sain told me all about it. And, believe me, he didn't leave out a single detail." She grimaced at the knight squatting cheerily beside her. "Even the ones I'd rather not have heard about."

Lyn smiled weakly, then turned her pained gaze on the young cleric kneeled next to her. She studied the girl's features, but still could not place a name to her face, "Who... Who are you?"

The cleric stiffened, she apparently hadn't noticed the Sacaen looking at her. "M-Me? Oh! I... My name is Abigail. I'm the cleric who told you about the shrine." She patted a long, oaken staff beside her. "You were lucky. Bishop Seward keeps spare staves in his room, and your friends managed to break the lock on the door."

Lyn squirmed, the events before her faint rushing back to her like the rapids of a river. "Ah! Th... That's right! The... the bishop and... and the Mani Katti! What... what happened?"

"You saved them both, my lady." This time it was Kent's voice. He appeared from the back room, an old man dressed in the robes of Elimine following behind him.

The elderly man bowed low, his beard brushing briefly against the ground. "Lyn of the Lorca, I am eternally indebted to you." He straightened up, his lips curling into a proud smile. "And it seems that not only have you saved me as well as my shrine, you have also fulfilled a life-long dream of mine."

"I... what?"

"Lyn, did you ever stop to think about that sword you used to strike down the bandit leader?" Cynthia asked, visibly confused, "Didn't you notice anything odd about it?"

"...Odd?"

"Lady Lyndis..." Kent turned, lifting the patterned scabbard of the Mani Katti off its resting place back on the altar. "That sword you used... It was this one."

Lyn felt the blood drain from her face. "But... But that's..."

Bishop Seward smiled faintly, taking the blade from Kent, cradling it delicately in both hands. He held it out to her. "You, my dear, have found the weapon you were destined to wield.

"The Mani Katti."


	5. Withering Flower

Chapter Four: Withering Flower

Fire danced and spun in the late evening breezes, the wind stretching out its scorching fingers in bizarre patterns. It performed like a gypsy, leaping and twirling in exotic movements, then settling into inaction for a few seconds when breezes ceased. As soon as the wind picked up again, however, it would explode in dance, stretching into the sky, reaching for the stars.

A chilling breeze wove its way through the Sacaen evening. The tall blades of grass quivered with the wind, bending and swaying with the rhythm. The _whoosh_ of the wind was calming, and it provided a peaceful background for the crackling of the fire.

The ground where the group made camp was much rockier than other places in Sacae, due to the fact that they were so close to Bern and the Taliver Mountains. While that did mean that they were almost one step closer to Lycia and Caelin, it also created a very uncomfortable sleep.

The thought of Taliver Mountain did nothing more than give Lyn a severe case of insomnia. She had not tried to sleep yet, but she was sure that she would not be able to that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of her village that night six months ago, and before even seconds had passed, she could watch no longer and was forced to gaze into the present.

Kent had managed to get a fire going, but the most he could do without a good supply of firewood was start a meager blaze, supplied by piles of dry grass and a few logs they had managed to scrounge from some of the brush around them.

The horses were tethered to their respective tents; Kent and Sain's stallions to their tent, and Lyn's mischievous mare to the other. Ever since the incident at the shrine, Cynthia had refused to go within three feet of the animal willingly. She was perfectly aware of the lost time this cost them, but her decision would not be swayed, no matter how much Kent and Lyn begged.

The four were huddled around a fire that was far smaller than any of them would have liked. Sacae nights were painfully cold, a still-unwelcome change from the sweltering heat of day. It seemed the weather of the plains worked in extremes, never anything less that unbearably hot or piercingly cold.

Cynthia had volunteered to cook. Kent simply provided her with the material means to do so–a pot, a rig to hold it over the fire, and such– and she had done the rest. Her ingredients she carried with her in her rucksack and the variety of tiny leather bags at her waist.

As the young tactician tended their dinner, Lyn sat as close to the fire's warm embrace as she could without scorching herself. The Mani Katti's ornate scabbard leaned serenely against her shoulder, where it could be found often since she had acquired it. She fingered the tiny, golden tassel on the end of the hilt, and brushed it absentmindedly against her cheek.

She still hadn't been able to bring herself to draw it; it still felt so strange to be holding the most famous blade in Sacae in her hands. Her father's sword still remained strapped to her waist, ready to be used if ever danger reared its head. Lyn had not retired it simply because she worried that, if it came right down to it, she wouldn't be able to get herself to free the sacred blade from its prison. Yes, for right now, the Mani Katti remained on the sidelines, a silent, but ever present entity.

Cynthia knelt at the fire's edge, reaching gingerly over the flames with a dented, iron spoon. Her long cloak lay abandoned at Lyn's side, protected from the erratic behavior of the flames, and her long braid was twisted into a sloppy bun behind her head. She poked daintily at a black pot amidst the flames, the very tip of the blaze licking the bottom of the pot and cooking it slowly to perfection.

Smoke poured mercilessly from the fire, despite its rather meek size, clogging the air all around it. Cynthia coughed violently, tipping her head away and to the side. "Agh... Stupid smoke," she muttered, turning her gaze back to the task before her.

"If it's that bad, Cynthia, you don't have to sit there," Lyn said, watching the younger girl struggle with the fire. "We can eat something else you know."

The tactician shook her head. "I already got it started. It'd be a waste of food to stop now just because of a little smoke."

"... It's more than just a little."

Cynthia shrugged. She leaned forward again through the smoke, touching the edge of the pot delicately with her spoon. She tipped it, and squinted through the blaze at its contents. After a moment, she nodded briskly and gently allowed the pot to swing back to its normal position. She scooted away from the smoke and flame, taking her seat beside Lyn.

"It needs a little bit more time," she said, as the others gazed curiously at her. "Give it a few more minutes."

Sain groaned, flopping back onto the ground. "The smell is immaculate, my dear Cynthia," he moaned, "but every whiff of it is the purest torture, knowing it will be forever out of my reach."

"The smell is so strange, though, Cynthia," Lyn said, ignoring Sain's tortured pleas for food. She sniffed the air once, and paused to think. "It reminds me of something served at the Inn in Bulgar, but at the same time it's so... different."

"It's a Bernian recipe," Cynthia said, rising again to check their dinner, "Some of the ingredients are hard to find in Sacae, so I had to improvise a little." She dipped her spoon into the broth, stirring the contents to distribute the heat evenly. She scooped a small test from the pot, blew on it gently, and lifted it to her lips.

Her face scrunched in dissatisfaction. Sain groaned in dismay, misinterpreting the look on her face, and collapsed back onto the grass. "Even if it is terrible, Fair Maiden, I implore you not to begin again. I don't think my poor stomach could take the disappointment."

"No... it's not that..." Cynthia paused to stir her concoction again, "It just... it _does_ tastes a little off, now that I think about it."

"That's most likely because you are used to it tasting a certain way," Kent suggested, "With a few different ingredients, it is understandable that it tastes off to you."

"Yes, I suppose so," Cynthia said slowly, but still her voice sounded unconvinced. She continued to stir the soup, pausing every now and then to taste a small sample. Finally, she tipped the pot towards her for a moment, then nodded briskly. "Have you starved to death yet, Sain?"

"I don't believe so, Maiden," Sain replied weakly, "But I am hovering dangerously close, I fear."

"Well, you're in luck," she said, "I think it's ready."

Sain whooped with newfound energy, springing forward. "Ohh, truly?" he cried, "Ahh, you are my life-saving angel, dear Cynthia!"

Cynthia laughed good-naturedly, and grasped the rod supporting the pot above the flames. She lifted it gingerly away from the fire's scorching fingers, and twirled, setting the pot on the ground. "Dinner is served, my friends!" she announced, seating herself directly behind the pot, her back to the fire. She collected bowls and spoons from a small pile beside her, and slowly tested her concoction one last time.

Her face scrunched again. "Ah... It still tastes so odd to me," she admitted, setting the spoon aside in the bowl she had designated for herself, "Tell me what you think of it."

"I'm sure it's fine," Lyn said, scooting forward and scooping a good amount of the soup into her bowl. "Thank you, Cynthia."

"Not a problem," the tactician said, doling out servings for the knights and herself. "Aunt Maya would be angry with me if she knew I'd been shirking my cooking."

Sain leaned forward eagerly for his bowl. "Be careful," Cynthia warned dully, handing a noticeably more controlled Kent his dinner. "It's hot. You'll burn your tongue off if you aren't careful."

"Hush, Cynthia," Lyn said with a vague smile as the tactician took her seat beside her, "It would be an enormous improvement."

"Such harsh words from so lovely an angel!" Sain whined, clutching his bowl close, "You will shatter my heart into a thousand tiny pieces one day, Angel."

But Lyn only rolled her eyes and dipped her spoon gingerly into the still-steaming soup. She lifted it delicately, blowing lightly to banish most of the heat from it. She touched the spoon to her lips, and cautiously tipped the liquid back into her mouth.

It was one of the most perfect blends of herbs, spices, and vegetables that Lyn had ever tasted. However, it was also so noticeably Sacaen that Lyn would have never questioned it if Cynthia had not informed her otherwise. She could pick out every Sacaen herb from the mesh of tastes swimming on her tongue.

"Exquisite!" Sain said brightly, staring into his bowl as if it were suddenly piled with gold. "Your magnificence never ceases to amaze, my Fair Maiden!"

"Do you really like it that much?" Cynthia said, looking down at her own serving doubtfully, her spoon tapping her lips. "I don't know why, but it _still_ just tastes so..."

"Nonsense!" Lyn said, dipping her spoon eagerly back into the broth. "It's delicious!"

"Agreed," Kent said, gently stirring the contents of his bowl to release the heat. He smiled. "I assure you, I never thought I would have such a wonderful meal in the middle of a journey."

"Well, if you think it's this good now, wait until you taste it when we're in Bern." Cynthia grinned, chasing a slice of carrot around with her spoon. "It'll be easier to get some of the spices, and that'll really give it the flair it was meant to have."

"I'm surprised that the herbs found in Bern would differ so greatly compared to here," Kent said. He was eating with all the manners befitting a knight, a harsh contrast to Sain beside him chugging down every drop straight from the bowl. "But you seem to know every detail of them. Did you grow up there?"

Cynthia lifted her bowl to her lips as he spoke, and gulped down the last of her soup. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and shook her head briskly. "Oh... Heh, no. I'm from Lycia myself. ... My Aunt Maya lived in Bern. She... brought us recipes every now and then when she came to visit."

"Did she?" Lyn said brightly, setting her spoon down in her bowl. "Was she a good cook?"

"Wonderful." Cynthia smiled wistfully at the star-spotted sky. "She was truly a baker for a living, but she could cook all sorts of things. She would bake cakes and things for us when she visited." She laughed. "Never pies, though,"

"Oh, 'tis a shame, my dear," Sain cooed, satisfied now that his stomach was full. "Pie... I cannot even describe it. It is second in sweetness only to that of a beautiful woman."

"Yes, well, that may be," Cynthia said with a smirk, "but whenever Aunt Maya would leave it on the windowsill to cool, one of the boys in town would come and swipe it." She sighed, nostalgia clouding her chocolate gaze. "I don't blame them. Aunt Maya's pies were magnificent."

"I'm curious, though, Cynthia," Kent said, finally finishing his dinner and setting his bowl aside. "Which part of Lycia did you live in?"

"... I grew up near the border between Lycia and Bern." She shrugged, "It's been such a long time since I've been home, though. It will be wonderful to just be back in Lycia's borders."

"Ah, yes! _Lycia_!" Sain cried, brandishing his spoon with every last bit of heroism one could give a spoon. "Ever the perfect picture of unity! Ah, Lycia, I know no other." He pressed his spoon to his chest, sighing dramatically, "And I am humbled to be a servant of its greatest province, the magnificent territory of Caelin!" He laughed triumphantly and again brandished his spoon, which Kent immediately seized and stuffed away, muttering about foolishness. Sain pouted at him momentarily, but his spoon was gone, and he was never getting it back.

"I... Have never been to either, myself," Lyn said slowly, "I've lived in Sacae all my life." She set the Mani Katti flat in her lap, running her fingers up and down the hilt nervously. She had not thought much about how different the world might be outside of the rolling plains of Sacae. In truth, she had not much _wanted_ to think about it. "... I wonder if it will suit me."

"Have no fear, my lady, for Lycia is a most magical place," Sain said seriously, "It contains every environment imaginable, from salty ports to freezing mountain-peaks. But, of course, nothing can match to the evergreens of Caelin"–he again sighed wistfully–"Oh, Caelin, how I long for thee."

"_Regardless_," Kent said irritably, giving Sain an icy glare, "milady, you should not worry about such things. I assure you that you will love Lycia every bit as much as we do."

Cynthia laughed and glanced at Sain. "Well, as much as Kent and I do. I don't believe I've met anyone who loves Lycia as much as Sain does."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

The fire grew dimmer as night lumbered on, the hours passing between the companions easily with light, joking conversation. Eventually, however, no one could deny the need for rest in preparation for the next day's journey. And so, the group bid each other good night, and departed to their respective tents.

The tents were small, but relatively cozy. They easily housed one, but two was pushing the limits of the structure. In any case, Lyn had managed to fit the necessary items for both Cynthia and herself with relatively little trouble, and now slipped into the warmth of her own bed.

She sat up, reaching high behind her head and gently letting her hair out of its tight ponytail. Waves of emerald green cascaded down her back, lapping gently at her shoulders and curling on the ground behind her. Lyn yawned, and laid down onto her pillow, snuggling away her dull headache in its soft embrace.

Cynthia, however, wasn't about to go to sleep just yet. She was dressed in her night clothes, and her hair was let loose just as Lyn's was, but she had not yet slipped into the warm embrace of her bedding. She was seated on top of her bed, her legs crossed beneath her. Her black, leather-bound book lay open in her lap, and she read it slowly, a content smile gracing her lips. A small candle sat flickering beside her, casting a stream of dim light over her lap.

Lyn propped herself up onto one elbow, watching Cynthia read with mild curiosity. She hadn't looked at the book when she had first found the tactician out of respect for the older woman's privacy, but now, seeing that Cynthia was reading it in plain sight without any qualms that Lyn was in the room, she felt her curiosity rekindle.

"Cynthia," she said slowly. The tactician glanced up from her reading, meeting Lyn's curious gaze with her own mahogany eyes. "What is that, if you don't mind me asking?"

Cynthia stared at Lyn, uncomprehending, for a moment. Then it clicked it in her mind, and she laughed, lifting her book from her lap. "Oh! This? This is my journal. My master gave it to me when we first started. I write battle plans in it."

"Truly?" Lyn asked, sitting up eagerly. The book was packed to the brim with paper, all of them ragged and rough at the edges. Even the corners of some poked out haphazardly from in between the pages, stained and bent from age. "It looks so old. How long have you been writing in it?"

Cynthia ran her fingers fondly over the pages. "Oh, it's been years. Ever since I was a little girl. If I had to count, though, it's probably been..." She frowned, going over the numbers in her mind, "At least ten years." She laughed, patting the pages proudly. "It's getting full. I keep stuffing it full of loose papers, it's overflowing. I should get a new one soon."

She extended the book towards Lyn, laying it gently on the strip of earth between their beds. "Here, have a look," she said cheerily, "I don't mind."

Lyn leaned forward, peering through the dim candlelight at the pages. Complicated diagrams covered majority of every page, the pictures bordered by long strings of mathematical computations. Below the diagrams were blocks of text, all in Cynthia's neat scrawl, of how and why each tactic would be used. Lyn turned each page in wonder; some of the diagrams were so complicated and covered in so many side-notes and revisions that it was a wonder Cynthia could still read it.

On many of the pages, there were tiny symbols scribbled into the top corners. Lyn could only guess what they meant; they seemed so complicated in appearance, and yet their structure was so simple. She pointed them out to Cynthia and she nodded sagely.

"... That was something my teacher used to write when he reviewed my work," she said, "He never did tell me what any of them really meant. Just that this one"–she pointed to a circle with several triangles inscribed inside it–"meant that he liked what I had done, and that this one"–she pointed to a square with a twisting design of lines outside it–"meant I was being foolish and I should change it. He gave me that one a lot." She shook her head, smiling furtively. "I never did, though. I liked my plans too much to change any of them."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't," Lyn said, turning a few pages in the journal. "These are amazing. I can't believe your teacher wanted you to throw some of them away."

"Yes, well," Cynthia said, her voice suddenly dropping uncomfortably, "That particular teacher expected only the best from me, nothing less. I had a few others who were a bit more... lenient."

Lyn tore her eyes away from the journal to look at her friend curiously. "You changed teachers? How odd. Everyone I knew who was learning a trade had one teacher for life. They would never even consider switching."

Cynthia shrugged, and laid back onto her bed roll. "Remember, I told you I started learning when I was very young," she said, "My father had an unstable job back then, and we moved from place to place trying to settle down. I had a different teacher in every place we lived, until we finally found a good home, and I got a permanent one."

"I see," Lyn said, closing Cynthia's journal with a snap and pushing it back to her friend. She laid her head back into her pillow, and pulled her blankets up over her shoulder.

"That's why I travel so much, I guess," Cynthia continued dreamily, studying the ceiling of their tent. "It was so much fun when I was a little girl, and it's even more fun now." She laughed and rolled onto her side, smiling brightly at Lyn. "... Oh, never mind, I'm just talking to myself. We should be asleep anyway."

Lyn returned her smile with a tiny smirk. "If I'm too tired to stand tomorrow, I'm blaming it on you, Cynthia,"

"As you should," Cynthia remarked cheerfully. She leaned over her bed, putting out the flickering candle with a wave of her hand. What little light they had dispelled in a second, plunging the entire tent into an inky blackness. "Goodnight, Lyn," she told the darkness, snuggling deep beneath her blankets.

"Goodnight."

* * *

_a/n: As all my old readers (if any of them are here) have probably noticed that I changed the tactician's name (If you didn't, I would be shocked and hurt, but let's not get into that). I didn't like her old name, so I changed it, simple as that. Now, if you prefered the old one, tell me. I may or may not change it back, but I want to hear your outlook on the subject._

_While I'm talking about it, I would also like to make it clear that I changed the tactician's **age** as well. I never blatantly stated how old she was in the last version, but let me assure you, she was much **much **too young. She's still a bit young for her profession (which is a must, considering that Hector **tells **you in the game that you're too young, and this **is **a novelization after all), but she's at least older than the lords. _

_Thanks for reading, everyone, and I hope you come back again when Chapter Five rolls around! _

_OceanRose _


	6. Sky Riders

Chapter Five: Sky Riders

Days came and went. The sun and moon chased each other in an unending war for dominion over the sky. The advantage slipped back and forth evenly between each, sometimes the prideful sun would illuminate the world below, and sometimes the spiteful moon would bring its legions of stars, and cover the blue with blackness. But their war was only between them, for the plains continued to ripple calmly below them, blissfully ignorant to the celestial battle over their heads.

Today, the Sacaen sky was as barren and pristine as the endless waves of grass it watched over. Free from the hindrance of clouds, the sun could relish in its day-long control of the sought after sapphire expanse. It even graced the world below it with the pleasure of its victory, the heat chasing away the piercing cold of night.

A snow white pegasus took advantage of this gift, and basked in the warmth of the sun's victory. It followed the horizon, its feathery wings pumping in a slow, deliberate rhythm so that it may catch every stray beam without fail.

Its tiny mistress, however, had no wish to share in her steed's pleasure. In fact, the sun's gloating warmth was more of an irritating impediment to her than anything. Her azure armor, though light and covering only the top half of her body, absorbed the heat like a sponge. The result was a musty and uncomfortable sensation, one that had her wishing she could simply tear the armor away and send it flying to the earth below.

Of course, she would never even _consider_ truly doing such a thing, lest she accidently strike some unsuspecting bystander below.

She leaned heavily on her steed's graceful neck. She was terribly tired of flying; it felt like she had been in the sky for days. True, she enjoyed the thrill of the wind in her hair and the sight of the ground far below her, but one could only relish in such things for so long. After one had been in the sky for as long as she had, the adrenaline faded. The scenery also tended to get rather repetitive; clouds stopped looking like flowers and fish and kitty cats and started looking more like clouds.

She had been searching for weeks, ever since she had visited Lyn's empty ger. It had been completely plundered by bandits, but miraculously still standing nonetheless. There were countless possible explanations for this, but she tried her best to stay positive.

Perhaps there had been another attack by bandits, a more merciful clan like the Ikane, and Lyn had found them too much for her and fled.

Or, maybe she had simply decided to move, and hadn't had the chance to contact her.

Or... Or maybe the Ganelon appeared and kidnapped her...

Or... the Taliver...

The pegasus knight smacked herself smartly on the forehead, demanding that her mind banish such thoughts. Lyn was strong; she could take care of herself. _Her_ kidnapped by bandits! Ha! What a ridiculous thought!

And yet...

"H-...Huey!" The pegasus knight cried, determined to pry her mind away from the possibilities and back to her search. "Are you tired? We've been flying so long... you're wings _have_ to be tired. They are, aren't they, boy? _Aren't they?_"

Huey snorted, an obvious dismissal of this statement.

His mistress ignored him. "Oh! Look, Huey!" She pointed past her steed's ivory head, indicating a minuscule congregation of buildings rapidly approaching in the distance. "That should be Bulgar," she said cheerfully, taking Huey's reins and wrapping them around her forearms. "We can stop there. You can rest your wings, get an apple or two... And I can ask if anyone's seen Lyn! Isn't that wonderful?"

Huey snorted again, irritably.

"Right." She snapped Huey's reins once, and tugged them lightly in the direction of the town. "Fly, Huey!"

For one last time, Huey snorted his disagreement, but grudgingly obeyed. His wings lashed out at the still air, filled with sudden, newfound energy. They pumped for a few moments longer to gain speed, then tipped and let the air rush past them. Dipping his neck downward, the pegasus began to sink, sailing towards the city in the distance.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Though it had appeared minuscule when it had been lying on the horizon, Bulgar was, in all truth, a grand city. Filled to the brim with people, nearly all of them Sacaen, the young pegasus knight couldn't help but hope that her friend was lost somewhere amid the crowds.

First, however, she needed to get Huey situated.

She had been to Bulgar many times in the past, usually on visits with Lyn. She liked to think that she knew the city fairly well, despite the fact that she seemed to forget the locations of key places every time she visited. The one place she always remembered, however, was the stable, placed behind the Inn for travelers to house their steeds.

The pegasus knight led Huey awkwardly through the gate and into the marketplace. She always felt out of place in large cities like Bulgar. Pegasi could only be found in Ilia, and so they were naturally a sight to see anywhere else. They were relatively larger than the everyday horse, resembling them to oversized birds, folding their wings neatly across their perpetually ivory backs. They took the utmost care not to let a single feather go unchecked, and could be found spending their uneventful hours preening away at immaculate wings. Adult males like Huey also sported a mane and tail the color of liquid gold that had to be maintained with just as much fervor.

Provided they got to fly away from Ilia's borders enough, it was relatively easy for all the wonder and awe to go to a pegasus's head. Huey was no different.

His tiny mistress used what little strength she had to try restrain her steed as he pranced through the market place. It wasn't nearly enough. Huey simply dragged the trembling girl along, his silver hooves clapping noisily against the cobblestone. People scrambled to create a path for the animal, and stopped on the sidelines to watch and whisper in wonder.

The pegasus knight felt her cheeks rush with embarrassed warmth. She couldn't help but feel like every single gaze was locked on her, despite the fact that she _knew_ this was not so, as everyone seemed infatuated with Huey. Still, it made her seem like the main attraction of some freak show or parade, and her only solace was the fact that it would be over very soon.

"C-...Come on, H-...Huey..." Encouraged by this thought, she took a firmer hold on Huey's reins and marched ahead of him. He whinnied with blissful ignorance towards her mortification and trotted after her, not a care in his mind.

She managed to ignore the people's frenzied whispers long enough to round the corner and get into the main square. As always, the square was noticeably more empty than the marketplace; at this time of day it was almost _completely _vacant, save for a few souls on their way to market. the pegasus knight took a deep breath, and set off across the empty expanse, past the gurgling fountain to the Yve Inn.

The stables were situated just behind the Inn, free for anyone to house their animals... provided they had already rented out a room for at least two nights. However, the pegasus knight didn't have that kind of time to spend in the bustling hub of a city. She only needed enough time to gather a little information, and she would be on her way.

For short visits, the innkeeper advised travelers to simply tether their steeds to one of the posts outside the building. But, considering Huey and the nature of humans, that was something she simply could not risk. Some of the people from the market had been so awed by her steed that they had even dared to _follow_ her, of all things! As far as she knew, people might try to feed him, or... or maybe even a _man _would try to touch him! That would cause all sorts of trouble that she most certainly did not want.

No, tethering him outside in broad daylight was simply not an option.

For now, though, it was a must. Huey wouldn't fit through the door, and something had to be done with him while she tried her best to negotiate with the innkeeper. Her steed snorted irritably, but followed obediently as she led him to the tethering rack and looped his reins around one of the posts. Her fingers, perhaps unconsciously, took the leather strips and twisted them around each other in a tight, Ilian knot. It was a knot she had been taught at the Academy; one she was confident would keep some of the more... _daring_ passerby from trying to take her prized steed.

She stroked Huey's nose gently, and reached around him to fetch a carrot from his saddlebag. "You be a good boy, Huey," she told him firmly, and held the treat out to him. His ears flicked in grudging agreement, and he took the tiny vegetable from her hands, crunching noisily in the afternoon sun.

Part of her wanted to reprimand him for drawing even more attention to himself than he already had, but majority of her was tired of struggling with him and she decided to let him cause all the ruckus he wanted to. Besides, she had more important things to tend to, like finding Lyn as soon as possible.

If Lyn had passed through here, the one most likely to know where she was headed was the innkeeper. Almost all of Bulgar's travelers passed through this Inn at one point or another, but there were so many that the young pegasus knight could only guess how many of them the innkeeper actually remembered. In any case, however, the Inn was a start, and she had to start somewhere.

But there was one more obstacle she had to pass through before she could even ask for information.

Summing up the courage to speak.

She had been to Bulgar's Inn almost as many times as she had the city itself, and was tentatively certain that the innkeeper was the same person he always been. However, every time she had come to Bulgar and stopped at the Inn, it had been with her unit of pegasus knights at the Academy. Now she was all alone.

She wasn't sure if she could talk to the innkeeper by herself. In fact, she had never even dared to when she had visited the Inn before. She had let the others take care of renting rooms and ordering dinner. There was one thing about the innkeeper that, whenever they met face to face, stole her voice away.

He was a man.

She took a deep, calming breath in an effort to steady herself. It didn't help.

Excluding her father, she had never been able to form a coherent conversation with any man she had ever met. And to top that off, her father had passed away when she was very young, so, in reality, she could not form a coherent conversation with _any_ man. Period.

_But this is _different, she reminded herself firmly. It could be that finding Lyn hinged completely on whether or not she got herself to speak to this man. She didn't have the other pegasus knights or Lyn or anyone else for that matter to speak for her today.

Huey had finished his carrot, and was now watching his mistress with undivided attention; perhaps hoping for another treat from his saddlebag. She turned to look at him, already trembling at the prospect of what she was about to do. "O-...Okay, H-...Huey..." she said slowly, "I-...I've got to t-...try..."

Huey's ears pricked; his eyes seemed to brighten. He whinnied encouragingly as his mistress turned away and shuffled towards the door, as if to say, _Atta' girl!_

She only wished she could feel even the tiniest bit of confidence that Huey seemed to radiate.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"...! Watch yourself, Mayim! _Watch_–...!"

_CRASH_

Fragile glass struck the ground hard, shattering upon impact. Shards flew in every direction, and the contents of the glass spilled forth, slopping uselessly onto the already swelling hardwood of the Yve Inn's lobby floor.

A young Sacaen girl cursed several times, and very loudly at that. That must've been at least the fifth time she'd dropped a glass today! She stepped gingerly away from where the glass had shattered, grimacing at it, but taking care not to cut her feet on the shards.

It was dark in the Yve's lobby; the shutters on the windows were pulled shut, and only one lantern hanging from the ceiling was lit. For whatever reason, the innkeeper liked it as dark as he could get it without it being a hindrance... well, to him, at least.

To Mayim, the darkness was as irritating as the sky was blue. She couldn't imagine why a man of the plains could shut out the sun for so long. She herself was almost _dependent_ on the sun for her sanity!

She cast one, longing look at the tightly-closed shutters before tearing her eyes away and dancing around the radius of the shattered glass. She had been here for days, working for a couple hours each day as a waitress. It was a terrible job, and she found she was horrid at it, but she had to earn gold somewhere.

She shoved her way behind the counter, ignoring the pointed sighs of irritation coming from her employer standing there. "Sorry," she muttered stiffly, fetching a dustpan and a tiny broom from underneath the counter. Of course, she was not at all sorry for what she had done. She dropped so many glasses today out of blindness and sheer clumsiness that she was starting to believe that the damn things _deserved_ to be dropped every now and then simply for being irritating. "I'll try not to do it again."

"Please do," the innkeeper said heavily. He turned and took a glass from the cupboard behind him, filling it high with Sacaen whiskey. "At this rate, I'm not sure what I'll run out of first; glasses or whiskey."

Mayim gave a grunt of indifference as she squatted to sweep up the fragments of glass. The smell of spilt whiskey stung her nostrils as she worked. It was an awful stench; she could only guess as to why so many men enjoyed stuffing the stuff down their throats for half the day. She grimaced as the smell continued to plague itself onto her, distracting her enough that she neither noticed nor cared when the Inn doors swung meekly forward on their hinges.

"Um... Um... Ex-...Excuse me?"

"Yes, can I help you, Miss?"

"I... I... Uh..."

Mayim rocked forward in her squat, and swept the last bit of the mess into her pan. She straightened up and strode across the room, past the trembling newcomer and behind the counter. She didn't have to deal with customers until they actually became customers.

She knelt and fished underneath the counter for the mop. No matter how much old Sacae men liked the whiskey, Mayim herself couldn't stand the smell of it. She had to get rid of it, if only for her own sanity.

Her employer was silent for several moments before clearing his throat uncomfortably. "... Miss," he began, leaning slightly on the counter, "are you well? You're trembling..."

Indeed she was. The girl was shaking like a dead leaf caught in the wind. She had gone completely silent, but, judging by the disoriented sounds still coming from her mouth, she was trying to say _something_. Mayim peeked her head curiously over the counter; come to think of it, the girl hadn't managed to put together one sentence since she'd come in.

She was a small girl, short and thin, almost to the point where the azure armor across her chest looked as if it were about to engulf her. Lavender hair curled delicately around a pale face, pieces in the front pulled back with ornate, silver barrettes. Her fingers picked anxiously at the collar of a tight, black turtleneck underneath her dress, as if the temperature in the room had suddenly skyrocketed. Mayim narrowed her eyes curiously. Such strange clothes in Sacae. If she didn't know better, she could've sworn that was the uniform of the pegasus knights of Ilia. But how could this mumbling, shaking wreck of a girl possibly be...?

Mayim snorted, and straightened up as her fingers finally found the swollen handle of the mop. _That_ girl, a pegasus knight? Ridiculous. She was probably just some foreigner that worshiped the renowned Ilian knights. She looked like she was about to faint, for heavens sakes. Mother Earth forbid what she would do in the thick of a battle.

Confident in her unwavering logic, Mayim swept silently from behind the counter and past the girl, taking care to maintain an air of indifference about her. But, as she began to mop up the remains of the whiskey, she couldn't help but wonder...

Had that been an almost... _pleading_ look the girl had sent in her direction?

Mayim tilted her head very slightly, allowing her gaze to slip back to the newcomer. Well, if she had been looking at Mayim before, she certainly wasn't now. In fact, judging by the way she was trembling, mumbling, and whimpering, she probably hadn't moved at all. Mayim shrugged, dismissing the uncomfortable feeling as imagination, and set to mopping up that _horrid _smell...

The innkeeper, now obviously very uncomfortable, inched out from behind the counter. He approached the little girl almost cautiously, as if she were a cornered beast and not a shaking wreck about to collapse. "... Miss," he said slowly, "Are you all right?" He reached out with his right hand, intending to clasp her shoulder to somehow comfort her...

But his action had the exact opposite effect he had been going for. The girl suddenly sprang to life, but she was anything but relaxed. Emitting something close to a _shriek_, she jumped backwards, stumbling over–and nearly falling over–one of the already unstable chairs behind her. "N-...No!" she cried, planting her palms over her heart as if to calm a racing heart, "P-...Please, don't come any closer!"

By now, Mayim was staring at the girl in utter shock, her mouth slightly agape. What was _wrong_ with this girl?

Her employer was just as–if not more–baffled as she was. He raised his hands in a defensive maneuver, and backpedaled a few steps, if only to reassure the girl. "Miss, forgive me," he said in a withering tone, "But I don't..."

He didn't get to finish his statement, as now the girl, who had merely moments before been unable to speak, was now talking a mile a minute. Her words slurred together and tumbled over each other carelessly, and, though she was making a point to try and say a lot, she in all truth wasn't saying much of anything at all. In fact, it was as if she hadn't spoken a day in her life.

Which, Mayim concluded wryly, wasn't all that farfetched, if you thought about it.

"I'msososorrybutIhavetoaskyouif...whatImeantosayis...nothatisn'tright...pleaseifyoucouldjust..."

She continued on like that for several moments, hundreds of words spilling from her lips without her actually saying much of _anything_. Mayim and her employer could only gape at this eccentric girl in disbelief as she plowed onward, unable to say whatever it was she wanted to say in less than a million words.

Finally, the girl's endless flood of words ceased, and she took a moment to catch her breath. She breathed like she'd been underwater for hours, her hands pressed firmly over her heart. Eventually, her respiration evened out, and she took one last, deep breath to steady herself.

Mayim watched in stony silence as her employer once again tried to speak. "M-Miss... Are you...?"

"Please, I need your help!"

The girl finally blurted this with such shocking calmness – though her voice quivered with every word – that it threw both occupants of the room off for a moment. But the girl wasn't paying any attention to their momentary confusion; she was now beaming at nothing in particular, again chattering endlessly to herself.

"I... I did it! I... actually... Ha! Ha ha ha! Ha...!"

But the innkeeper was pleased that the girl had finally gotten out what she had been trying to say for the past few minutes, and wasn't about to let her streak end there. "Of course, Miss," he said hastily, "We will be happy to help. What is it you need?"

"I... erm..." Mayim felt her brain cry out in exasperation. At this rate, the girl was going to go through the entire process again, and Mayim wasn't sure how much longer her patience could take it.

But her employer wasn't giving up so easily. "Yes?" he prompted, "What is it? Do you need a room? Or are you looking for something to buy? Selling, maybe? Or have you lost someone?"

His last suggested clicked something in the girl's mind, and she leaned forward with an extra burst of bravery. "Y-...Yes!" she cried, "I-...I'm trying to find a girl named... Lyn. You... Have you heard of her, b-...by chance? Anything at all?"

The innkeeper paused a moment, racking his brain for any memory of such a name. Finally, after a few moments, he sighed and shook his head sadly. "No, I can't say I have," he said, "My apologies... But... Mayim..." He glanced expectantly at the waitress.

"Lyn..." Mayim frowned, leaning thoughtfully on the wooden handle of her mop. The name _did _sound familiar, albeit vaguely. Where had she...?

Oh, yes! There was Lyn of the Lorca, wasn't there? That was the only Lyn Mayim could think of at the moment. Besides, hadn't Lyn of the Lorca...

Mayim returned her employer's look, and spoke, very slowly, "Sir... Didn't Lyn of the Lorca pass through her a few weeks ago?"

At this statement, the girl snapped away from her giggles and turned to the waitress. "R-...Really?" she exclaimed, folding her hands in excited prayer before her, "You've seen her, then? Lyn's been here?"

"Come to think of it, I _do_ remember a girl booking a room quite some time ago..." the innkeeper mused, his sentence trailing off into thought before he could finish. His fingers ran thoughtfully over his scruffy beard as he returned to the counter, mumbling softly to himself. He dipped behind it, and emerged with a thick, leather-bound book, its pages worn and yellowed from age. Setting it on the counter, he let it fall open to a random page, licked his thumb, and began to flip.

"Lyn... Lyn... Lyn..."

The girl watched him work with bated breath, her hands still clasped together her chest hopefully. Finally, near the end of the book, his finger stopped midway down the page, and he let out a grunt of recognition. "Yep. Right here. She and a girl named Cynthia stayed the night here two weeks ago. A room for the night, and a meal for two."

The girl gave a cheer. "R-Really?" she exclaimed. She was practically trembling again, this time, however from suppressed joy instead of fear. In fact, she seemed to have suddenly abandoned her unidentified fear altogether. "Oh, that's so wonderful! P-...Please, you don't happen to know where she was headed, do you?"

The innkeeper shut the book with a snap, and looked at the girl sadly. She was looking at him with such hope pooled in those aqua eyes... He almost couldn't bear to break her momentary celebration. "... I'm afraid not, Miss," he said finally, "I have so many customers... I can barely keep track of them while they're _here_, much less after they're gone."

The girl's face collapsed like a ger that had seen one too many storms. The excited warmth in her cheeks drained away as fast as it had come, and she touched them softly with her fingertips, almost as if she were trying to will the rose hue back into them. "O-...Oh, I see..." she murmured, "I... Well... Um..."

It was at that moment, watching the little girl writhe in her distress, that Mayim remembered. Hadn't those Lycian knights that had visited before – what were their names? Mayim couldn't seem to recall them... – been looking for Lyn? In fact, they had seemed very intent on finding her, now that she thought about it. Was it possible that...?

"I wonder..." she murmured aloud, shifting her mop thoughtfully from one hand to another. The girl looked up hopefully, again clasping her hands in a silent prayer. Mayim lifted her gaze, meeting the girl's aqua orbs with her own dark green eyes. "There _were_ a pair of Lycian knights here at about the same time your Lyn was," she said. She spoke very slowly, so as not to awaken the hyperactive girl underneath the timid exterior. "I cannot be sure, but it's possible that they met up with her."

"Th-...That's wonderful!" the girl cried, "D-...Did they happen to say why they were looking for her, or... or where they were going? Anything?"

Mayim again paused to think. How could she possibly forget almost losing her father's peck of sold chickens to the foolish one's carelessness? She only wished she had been listening when he had been babbling on to her about himself and how much Marquess Caelin must have trusted him to send him on such a dangerous escapade, or whatever he had called it...

Wait...

Caelin! Of _course_!

Everyone from Etruria to Sacae itself knew about the strife in Caelin, one of the provinces of the Lycian League. About the marquess's daughter – what was her name again? Kaitlin? Marilyn? No, that wasn't right... – and the sudden blood dispute with the marquess and his brother – name, name, name... Mayim was terrible with names today – as to who would be the marquess's successor when he left to greet Father Sky.

But what did that have to do with the Lorca? Mayim could only guess at that, but it was the best lead she had.

"Caelin," she said finally, after a few more moments of conflicted thought. When the girl looked at her questioningly, she elaborated. "They came from Caelin of Lycia. I can't be sure that they were headed _back_ there, but..."

The girl didn't seem to be listening. She was so overcome with joy at just the first few words of the explanation that she was practically dancing where she stood, giggling to herself in endless glee. "Oh! Oh, thank you _so_ much!" she cried, finishing off an extravagant twirl and ending in a low bow before Mayim, "You don't know how much I appreciate this!"

"Really, it's nothing," Mayim said sheepishly, taking a cautious step away from the girl. "_Really_."

"P-...Please," the girl continued, straightening up and smoothing out the folds in her dress, "I need to... I mean... Could you please...?" Her energy was beginning to fade, and she was slipping back into the comfort of her meekness. She pointed timidly to the door. "My... um..."

"Your horse?" the innkeeper suggested. Mayim snickered inwardly. Even her employer didn't appear to think _this _girl a pegasus knight. "Does he need a place to rest?" Without even waiting for her to answer, he strode over to the door, passing the stuttering girl with a wink. "Well, normally I don't do this, but if it's just for a few hours..." He seized the door handle and gave it a wrench, swinging the door forward and allowing Mayim's much-wanted sunlight to flood the room. "I'll just..."

"N-..._No_!" The girl cried, stumbling forward desperately. So much emotion was packed into that one dismissal that the innkeeper couldn't help but hesitate at the doorway. But as soon as he looked at her for an explanation, her courage withered. "Huey... he... he..." She swallowed hard, resolve flickering vaguely in her eyes. "He's... I mean... He's not a _horse_."

"What?"

"You see... Huey, he..."

The girl never finished her statement, but, in all reality, she never had to. Mayim shuffled her way to the doorway just as the innkeeper was leaning out, frowned, and tilted her own head through the portal so as to get a look at whatever it was the girl had ridden here.

She felt her mind go blank with shock.

This girl, she...

... Mayim could only pray that she was more impressive in the air than she was in the lobby of an Inn.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

In less than ten minutes, Mayim – that was her name, wasn't it? – had gone from waitress to stable maid.

She was a rather tall girl, slender, but obviously strong from years of life on the plains. She appeared to be in her mid-teens – Florina made a guess at about fifteen or sixteen – but had all the maturity of a full grown adult. She had not protested at all when she had been asked to take care of Huey; only nodded and obeyed. Her skin had the tanned toughness that many Sacaen's possessed, even beneath the long sleeves of her blouse, now rolled to her elbows. Her hair was on the darker end of the green spectrum, almost a shade of forest, and cut at her shoulders. She had tied it high behind her head, and it swung behind her in rhythm with her work.

As much as Florina hated to impose this task on her – after all, the girl was a _waitress_ – it couldn't be helped. Huey was a pegasus, and pegasi would, under absolutely no circumstances, _not_ allow a male – adult or child – to touch them. This ruled out the innkeeper and all of the stable boys, and so the innkeeper had been forced to ask the only woman on duty at the moment: Mayim.

At first, it had been difficult to find a stall that could accommodate Huey's greater girth, and eventually Mayim – who had at that point finally betrayed signs of intense irritation – had been forced to place him in a pen with a few pigs as roommates. This, apparently, did not suit the ivory stallion one bit, but, with some pleading courtesy of his mistress, he conceded to being sniffed by a pair of curious sows.

At that time, Florina had left her precious steed in Mayim's care and gone to buy supplies for their journey westward.

The trip had taken longer than she would've liked, but now she had everything she needed for a journey as far as Caelin itself, if need be. The sun was beginning to sink low in the sky, casting a heavy, orangish glow over Bulgar. Florina cupped her hand worriedly at her brow, studying the sky with distaste. Shopping had apparently taken a _lot_ longer than she had anticipated; now she was going to have to stay the night at the Inn. She could only pray that the innkeeper would let Huey spend the night in the stables...

At the thought of the innkeeper, Florina felt her heart swell with pride. It had taken well over a few minutes, but she had managed to get the question out; not to mention, she had also gotten sizeable amount of information in return. She had even been able to say what she wanted to say without stuttering; at least, after a few minutes of... gathering her thoughts. How proud Lyn would be when she heard about this!

And she would be able to hear it very soon. If Mayim's guess was right, Lyn should be just entering Bern by now; Florina would reach her in a week at the most. With this optimistic thought to encourage her, the young pegasus knight felt a bit of a skip make its way into her step as she walked in the late afternoon sunlight. Everything was set to go; all she had to do was leave at first light.

The marketplace was all but empty now, vacant of buyers and sellers alike. It basked in the golden glow of the setting sun; the dust was finally beginning to settle, and at long last the area's true beauty was exposed to eyes that would never gaze upon it. The swollen, chafed wood of the stalls now gleamed with a smooth, beautiful sheen that projected illusion of youth. Faded, frayed strips cloth meant to protect the balding head of shopkeepers now shone with the color of days long past. The grass and shrubs wilting at the side of the cobblestone streets now seemed less like a precursor of premature death and more like the slip into peaceful, eternal rest.

Florina adored the Sacae plains with all her might at this time of day. It was a beauty that the Ilian mountains simply could not match, with their blizzards and perpetual ivory caps. She cherished every moment of the fleeting hours the sun remained at this altitude. The sight was even more spectacular from above, gazing down through the paint-splattered clouds and into the golden grasslands below.

Lyn, she remembered, loved the plains with an equal vigor, but at every waking moment of the day; perhaps, even the non-waking moments of the day. Lyn was so passionate about the plains; they were her life, and, as long as Florina had known her, they had always been.

Which was why, no matter how many different ways she looked at it, Florina couldn't imagine _why_ Lyn would leave with a couple of strangers to Lycia. Sacae meant so much to her, surprisingly even more so after the Taliver did what they did to her tribe. Florina shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

Forcing her mind away from the thought of the Lorca massacre, Florina did her best to focus her mind on the information she had received from Mayim and the innkeeper. It was then that she remembered.

_Didn't the innkeeper mention someone else? ... Cynthia? Was that her name? Yes, I'm sure it was. Lyn's never mentioned her before..._

The edges of the young pegasus knight's lips turned down in a thoughtful frown. If Lyn had stopped in Bulgar, that meant one of two things: she needed supplies, or she was going on a journey. The fact that she had stopped with a stranger in her midst indicated heavily towards the former. But Lyn had always been reluctant to go on visits to _Ilia _with Florina. What had this stranger done that could have possibly changed her friend's mind on the matter?

And those knights of Lycia that Mayim had spoken of...

Florina sighed heavily. The only way to truly find out what had went through Lyn's mind was to ask Lyn herself. And to do that, the pegasus knight would have to find the stray Sacaen first. For right now, though, she put thoughts of her search in the back of her mind. Tonight, she needed to rest, and tomorrow the next leg of her journey would begin.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"Oooh...! Huey, I have _no_ idea where we are!"

Huey snorted irritably as Florina adjusted herself in the saddle. They had been traveling for a week now, and she was beginning to feel the effects of flying from dawn to dusk for seven days. With a small, ladylike grunt, she reawakened the energy in her legs and managed to stand, sighing with contentment as the dull aches in her leg muscles were stretched away. Cupping a hand at her brow, she squinted at the blurry horizon and scanned it for any signs of life. "I've never been in this part of Sacae before," she told Huey softly, "It's... awful..."

Indeed it was. Florina and her flying steed had reached the far side of Taliver Mountain; where Sacae ended and Bern began. The mountain had been an active volcano many years ago, and the land around it remained a testimony to those days. The mountain itself and the area around it for many miles was blackened with ages of ash and volcanic rock, layers upon layers that even time was having trouble erasing.

However, the mountain had remained nameless through its entire streak as a bubbling natural disaster. Perhaps the villagers of surrounding towns had given it their own labels, but neither Bern nor Sacae, nor anyone else for that matter, had recognized a true name fo the monstrosity. It was not until the makeshift "government" of this area had been instituted did the mountain finally receive a name of its own.

Taliver Mountain.

The Taliver Bandits had named it themselves when they had seized complete control of the area. It had not taken long–a few months, at most. The valleys around the mountain were populated sparsely with villages, but they were not united enough to have a set leader and government system. So, naturally, the bandits had decided to take the area for their own.

It showed. The countryside was so visibly ravaged from the flames of battle that, eventually, the endless, blackened plains surrounded by the black faces of Taliver Mountain began to give the illusion that fire had simply engulfed everything. Even the decimated remains of cities and villages were charred from flame, leaving nothing but black, empty shells of buildings behind. Perfect pictures of ghost towns, the streets were eerily empty, suggesting that a gruesome fate had befallen the inhabitants.

Lyn had told her about the terrors the Taliver inflicted on the people, but Florina had never seen them first hand. It was disgusting and heart-wrenching, all at the same time.

Florina settled back into her saddle, a distressed frown twisting her lips. Not only were the sights terrible to behold, they also foreshadowed an ill fate for Florina herself. The sun was dipping dangerously close to the horizon now, and if she didn't find a suitable–preferably still inhabited–village to spend the night in soon, she would be forced to land and sleep in the open.

The very thought made her feel like someone had just dumped a bucket of icy water inside her chest. No matter how empty the area looked, the Taliver still held power here.

Shuddering involuntarily, Florina ran her eyes along the horizon line once more, as if doing so might cause something to appear that she had missed before. Still, no matter how hard she prayed it wasn't so, the area was just as bare as it had been moments before. Florina could only sigh in defeat and lean on her steed's graceful neck, burying her face into the golden threads of his mane.

"What now?" she moaned to her steed, "We can't fly all night... but there's no _way_ we can land _here_. Ohhh, Huey, I don't know what to do..."

Her steed whinnied softly, and slowed his pace to a peaceful glide. After a moment, he whinnied again, this time a tad bit more urgently. Florina took the bait, and raised her head slightly. She locked her gaze on the horizon once again, scanning it for _anything_. They _did _still had a few hours to go, after all. Maybe something would...

Wait, what was that?

Was that... smoke?

"Ah...!" Florina sat up straight, and leaned forward eagerly. Maybe she _had _missed something after all! "H-...Huey, look!" she cried, pointing in the general direction of the gray pillar. "Smoke! That could only mean..."

Well, smoke could mean one of two things. Elimine willing, it was smoke from a chimney, or maybe even the stray plume from a traveler's fire. Anything of the sort would be good enough for the young pegasus knight. Just as long as she didn't have to sleep alone on the outskirts of Taliver Mountain.

But there was also the possibility of a bandit camp, or–Florina hated to even think it–it might even be the beginnings of another massacre.

Florina hesitated. She couldn't risk something like that.

And yet... She had just spent the last ten minutes or so searching desperately for any sign of life. This was better than nothing at all, wasn't it?

She pursed her lips, thinking hard. After a moment, she jabbed Huey delicately with her heels. "Fly, Huey!" she commanded, "Towards the smoke!"

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Ah, the welcome warmth of fire. He hadn't felt it in over a month; much too long for anyone, in his opinion, to go without fire. He smiled and pushed himself as close to the flames as he could without scorching himself, and held his chilled hands against the warm air. Oh, how he cherished fire.

But, for the past few weeks, such fire was too dangerous. It was by miracle and miracle alone that the Taliver hadn't discovered and decimated this village yet. As far as he knew, the troop was completely on the other side of Taliver Mountain, but, in these dark days, no one could be sure. The people lived day by day in agonizing unease, waiting for, perhaps, the inevitable. It was as if everyone in this area was simply waiting for death.

Wil would have to leave them very soon.

He was close to hating himself for it; after all, the villagers seemed to cherish his company. Anything to prove that not all outsiders were cold blooded killers, he supposed. But it was dangerous here, and he couldn't allow himself to be caught up in something he couldn't handle. He could defend himself against the occasional wolf or bear in the woods, but his little bow simply couldn't stand up to a swarm of blood thirsty bandits.

Wil frowned and touched a leather pouch at his belt almost self-consciously. It was the pouch that was designated to carry his gold, and, right now, it was very much empty. The villagers in this area were so poor that they couldn't afford to provide for themselves, much less to hire some random traveler to do their work for them. He had hoped to stop here for a job, but that obviously wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

And, when he left, he'd be at the mercy of whatever happened to be out in the wilderness, and without a copper coin to support himself.

What a wonderful mess he'd gotten himself into.

_You're a complete fool and you know it,_ he told himself for what had to be the millionth time, _What was so wrong with your old life that you had to dump it like a sack of potatoes?_

He tipped his gaze upward, watching gloomily as the dark clouds rolled by, blanketing the sky. The fire's momentary joy had washed away as if a flood had suddenly barreled through, and now it looked like it was going to rain.

He might as well bask with the fire as long as he had it. Of course, the villagers _had_ warned him against starting it in the first place, but the mountain nights were biting cold, and he needed something to warm away weeks of the chills. He only prayed that it wouldn't attract... unwanted visitors.

It was then that he heard it.

A shriek, a crash, a curse, and loud, muffled voices.

His heart stopped dead.

_Bandits_.

Of course, in reality, it could be any number of things. But his mind worked faster than his logic. Frenzied thoughts were already upon him, racing in fury. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Didn't you _know_ that fire would attract bandits?_ Wildly, he began to shovel soil onto the blaze in a blind effort to extinguish it. What if they were Taliver? He would've led them right to what was probably the only village they hadn't decimated yet!

A tiny part of his mind recognized that whoever it was wasn't approaching him, indicating that they hadn't been attracted to his flames, but fear for himself and for the villagers swallowed that thought whole. He was partially hidden by the bushes and tall, dying grasses around him, but it wasn't likely that something as simple as brush would be able to conceal him for long.

The last glow of embers was swallowed by grit as the voices grew louder and clearer. Wil stopped his frantic movements and listened, as tense as a rabbit hiding from a fox. But no matter how still he was, his heart seemed to be beating so fast and so loud that it drowned out anything important he might have heard. Only bits and pieces of a loud, one-sided argument reached his ears.

"... What kind of... ...don't you ever _look_...! ... pay for this!"

The second voice was incredibly soft. So soft, that Wil doubted that even the speaker could hear it. He himself could only hear the faintest shadows of speech, but it was just enough for him to recognize them to be feminine in nature.

He glanced uneasily at the tiny tunnel he had made in the brush to come here. It lead in the complete opposite direction of the voices. If he slipped away now, maybe the bandits wouldn't be able to...

"... Ha! ... Think you can get away... Bit of a looker... ... Fetch a pretty penny... flying mule..."

Wil grimaced. He retrieved his bow and quiver from their hiding spots among the bushes.


End file.
